


A Warden's Duty

by BrennaCeDria



Series: The Hero, The Champion, The Revolutionary [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Adventure, Epic, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-19
Updated: 2012-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-03 22:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 41
Words: 144,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrennaCeDria/pseuds/BrennaCeDria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elissa had dreamed of becoming a Warden. But how will she handle it when her greatest dreams and her worst fears are combined?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Highever

And So is the Golden City blackened  
With each step you take in my Hall.  
Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting.  
You have brought Sin to Heaven  
And doom upon all the world.  
 _-Threnodies 8:13_

 

Elissa woke with a start from her dream, not frightened but slightly bemused by it. She had dreamed of darkspawn and the defiling of the Golden City and while she considered herself an Andrastian, she wasn’t exactly religious and couldn’t place the reason for dreaming such a thing. She may have overheard the Chant coming from previous day’s service while passing by the keep’s chantry; much more likely her subconscious was drawing from her younger days, when her elder brother Fergus would tell her the same story, forming a prologue to an adventure story about the Grey Wardens.

 _The Wardens…_ As a child Elissa devoured tales of the Wardens riding their griffons into battle against the Archdemon. To her father’s amusement and her mother’s mild horror, she showed up on the training field in a piecemeal of Fergus’s old, discarded armor one day not long after her eighth birthday. When asked why she was there, Elissa matter-of-factly explained that if she was going to kill the Archdemon she needed to begin training. To her delight (and admittedly, her surprise) her mother allowed her to train, provided she had the proper equipment to stay safe in the process and she didn’t allow any of her other studies to suffer as a result.

At the time Elissa couldn’t hold a sword properly, so she learned to fight with daggers instead, both single-handed and with two blades together. Now grown, Elissa was more than capable with daggers, a sword, or a combination of the two. She’d picked up other skills from the boys in the training yard that her mother would be less than pleased with— _nothing like that!_ she thought briefly to herself, remembering with a sleepy laugh—that allowed her access to areas in the keep she strictly speaking shouldn’t always be roaming.

Glancing at the window, she could see the barest touches of color peeking between the heavy drapes. Curling into a tight ball briefly before stretching long and accidentally nudging her dog, Moira, awake, Elissa allowed her thoughts to focus on the day ahead. Her father, Fergus, and some of the more seasoned knights would be supervising the Highever troops as they prepared to march south to join the king’s army at Ostagar. Once Rendon Howe arrived with his forces, they would leave; the arl was expected to arrive either tonight or in the morning, so Highever’s men would need to be ready to leave with an hour’s notice. She was certain that many, if not most, of her father’s troops would be saying their goodbyes over breakfast this morning, just in case the call came before supper.

Realizing that her father and older brother would likewise have only this one chance to say goodbye before leaving, Elissa began to rise so that she could speak with them before seeing to duties of her own for the day. On the one hand, she was the teryn’s daughter—noble, refined, and poised; but on the other, she was a trained fighter, even if she wasn’t as strong as the majority of the men. Her mother would be staying behind and seeing to the business of the keep, the city, and their people. Elissa would be staying behind to supervise and command the token troops remaining in Highever as a defense force should the darkspawn overrun the king’s armies and the impending Blight begin to overtake the kingdom.

 _The Blight…_ Elissa hadn’t known what to think of the news when Cailan’s messenger delivered the notice calling up the armies. Today, with her father, brother, and most of her friends leaving, she still didn’t know how she felt. She knew that she should be terrified for her family and friends, but she couldn’t help a nagging sense of intrigue at the thought. A Blight meant that there would be an Archdemon leading the darkspawn. A Blight meant the Wardens would come, riding their griffons and ultimately slaying the dragon, saving the world.

But the griffons had been extinct for centuries now, and Elissa had more important things to worry about. She considered her wardrobe options; her mother would prefer she dress to her station while Lady Landra and her party stayed in Highever, but Elissa would be organizing her soldiers—issuing assignments and the like—and a dress simply wasn’t practical. She tugged on a pair of trousers, a large blouse, and her sword belt and glanced at her reflection. Satisfied that she looked enough the warrior to lead her men while still keeping in her mother’s good graces by not donning her armor so early in the day, Elissa pulled on a pair of boots and twisted dark hair into a loose knot before leaving her rooms to go looking for her family.

Moira followed her mistress from her rooms, but instead of coming with her across to Fergus’s chambers the hound sat at the door that led from the family’s apartments to the rest of the keep, whining quietly. Elissa changed her course long enough to let the dog out; either a guard or one of the servants would let Moira out into the yard if that’s what she was after, and one of Nan’s cooks would feed the mabari if she headed to the kitchens to beg.

Heading back in the direction of her brother’s rooms, Elissa knocked lightly to no response. Even though she half-expected Fergus to be out for the morning, she wanted to check on Oriana, her sister in law, to see if there was anything she or Oren needed before heading down to the kitchens herself. Trying the handle briefly and finding the door locked, the possibility of letting herself in occurred to her, but aside from snooping through Fergus’s things when they were children she’d always had a personal rule of not picking locks to her family’s spaces and belongings, especially since Fergus had a family of his own now. Shrugging mentally, Elissa checked the lock on her own door before leaving the family apartments herself.

 

* * *

 

After breaking her fast Elissa made a tour of the keep, making mental notes of areas that would need additional reinforcements either structurally or in the form of increased patrols. Under normal circumstances this would be one of Fergus’s duties, but as she was taking command of the local garrison after today, it was her duty to familiarize herself with these issues.

 _A Cousland never leaves his duty undone._ How many times had she heard her father recite those words, or ones like them? Nonetheless, the words had nestled themselves deep in her being as she matured. Though she wasn’t the eldest, her parents saw to it that she received the same education as Fergus “in case the worst should happen”. And now the very real possibility of that worst scenario coming to be was staring Elissa in the face just as the Blight stared north to Ferelden with hungry eyes. Her duty was to defend her family’s ancestral home in the absence of her father and brother, and if necessary to assist her mother with the governing of their lands, eventually to succeed her to the title of Teyrna. Her duty was to support the king if called to action, even at the expense of Highever if necessary. Above all her duty was to the people, of Highever specifically and of Ferelden in general.

King Cailan had been betrothed as a child to Teyrn Loghain’s daughter Anora, but Elissa had always considered herself above the Lady Anora; a truer daughter of Ferelden. Not only was Anora’s father previously a commoner and an outlaw, Loghain only begrudgingly joined the late King Maric’s campaign to liberate the nation from Orlesian occupation—something the songs celebrating his exploits at the Battle of River Dane always failed to mention.

While Elissa had not felt slighted personally that another was chosen as the king’s bride, she felt that the people of Ferelden deserved more than an outlaw’s scion. Ferelden deserved a true queen, able and willing to fight for her subjects wielding diplomacy and blades with equal skill. The Rebel Queen Moira, Maric’s mother, was a worthy daughter of Ferelden. Anora was little more than a cunning shrew of a woman; capable of playing the political games of court but the woman hadn’t trained for any sort of combat since they were both children and couldn’t defend herself in battle, much less defend the nation. As a teyrn’s daughter herself, and trained in both politics and swordplay, Elissa felt she would have made a much more capable queen, even if she had no interest in Cailan the man.

Stepping into the training yard, Elissa took a moment to enjoy the sun on her face. Her time outside earlier in her walk had been met with clouded skies and the warmth was welcome after the morning chill. The men of her garrison were already gathering for the briefing, and once they were fully assembled she called their attention and delivered her orders for the coming days, primarily a combination of training exercises and completing necessary work on Highever’s defenses. Satisfied that her men understood their duties and after addressing the concerns raised by a few of them, she dismissed them so that they could get underway.

It was past midday now, and Elissa made her way toward the kitchens to find some lunch, thinking that she’d see if she could find Oriana and share some with her since she’d missed her that morning. Before she was half way to the kitchens she was stopped by a servant with a message from her father, asking her to meet him in the great hall at her earliest convenience. Hungry but not wanting to make her father wait, she found a store room between herself and the hall, fetching an apple to eat as she made her way.

Disposing of the core and entering the hall, she realized immediately that the teyrn was not alone. This normally wouldn’t cause her to take notice, but the man speaking with her father was Arl Howe.

 _So it’s time…_ She’d woken this morning knowing that everyone would likely be leaving today. But now that Howe was here it became real, and she’d yet to even find her brother to wish him well.

“I’m sorry Pup, I didn’t see you there. Howe, you remember my daughter?”

Elissa cringed inwardly at the thought of speaking to Howe but refused to let it show on her face. The man was a good friend of her father’s but he always made her uncomfortable—either suggesting an arrangement between the Lady Elissa and one of his sons, or more recently leering at her himself.

“I see she’s become a lovely young woman. Pleased to see you again, my dear.”

There it was, that look. She’d overheard enough as she entered though: Howe arrived ahead of his men, and no one was leaving until they arrived in the morning. “So you’re not leaving until tomorrow?”

Her father nodded. “At any rate, pup, I summoned you for a reason. While your brother and I are both away, I’m leaving you in charge of the castle.”

Elissa wondered idly if this statement was some sort of a show for Howe’s sake, as they’d already discussed this the same day Cailan’s messenger had arrived. If they were indeed giving Howe a show she could certainly play along.

“What? Why can’t I go into battle with you and Fergus?” Concern tinted with enthusiasm, finished off with a slight pout. Elissa knew no one in Highever was fooled by her acts any longer, but Howe did not spend enough time here to know the difference. And if her father was surprised by her reply, he didn’t show it.

“I’m certain you’d more than prove yourself, but I am not willing to deal with your mother if you join the war. She’d kill me if I let you go. She’s already twisted into knots about Fergus and me going.”

“Let me talk to her. I’ll convince her,” Elissa pleaded earnestly. And it wasn’t entirely for show; if she didn’t have her duty here to attend to, she’d insist on joining her family in Ostagar even if it meant running away from home to do so. She did have her duties, though, and she knew she was risking a lecture from her father about how a Cousland never leaves her duty undone.

“I doubt that. You know your mother, and she made it clear there is no debate. This is no needless task. I ask you to take a great responsibility. Only a token force is remaining here, and you must keep peace in the region. You know what they say about mice when the cat is away, yes? There’s also someone you must meet. Please… show Duncan in.”

A guard left the hall, and returned leading a Rivaini man with a grim face. “It is an honor to be a guest within your hall, Teyrn Cousland.”

 _A Rivaini face, but a Ferelden accent_ , Elissa noticed. And odd combination; Highever may be near the northern coast of Ferelden, but Rivain was still a goodly distance, on the far side of the Free Marches and even Antiva.

Howe’s stuttering broke her reverie, “Your Lordship, you didn’t mention that a Grey Warden would be present.”

 _The Wardens…_ Her dream the previous night flooded back to her sharply.

“Duncan arrived just recently, unannounced.” The teyrn gave Howe a curious look. “Is there a problem?”

“Of course not, but a guest of this stature demands certain protocol. I am… at a disadvantage.” If Howe was at a disadvantage, Elissa had suddenly lost her voice.

“We rarely have the pleasure of seeing one in person, that’s true,” her father conceded. “Pup, Brother Aldous taught you who the Grey Wardens are, I hope?”

_I’ve only dreamed of the glory of the Wardens since I was a girl; riding their griffons into battle against the Blight and saving the known world._

“They are an order of great warriors,” she breathed almost reverently.

Her father nodded. “They are the heroes of legend, who ended the Blights and saved us all. Duncan is looking for recruits before joining us and his fellow Wardens in the south. I believe he’s got his eye on Ser Gilmore.”

“If I might be so bold, I would suggest that your daughter is also an excellent candidate.”

Elissa had never seen her father’s face darken so. “Honor though that might be, this is my daughter we’re talking about,” he frowned, stepping between Duncan and Elissa. The movement was almost casual, but still delivered a deliberate message: You would have to go through me before you take my daughter. The thought of having such an option taken from under her helped her to find her missing voice.

“I think I rather like that idea, Father,” she ventured cautiously. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t join them?”

The teyrn shook his head stubbornly and Elissa’s heart sank. She hadn’t expected to be allowed to join the Wardens, with her duties here in Highever, but she could still dream.

“Unless you intend to invoke the Right of Conscription?” he asked Duncan suddenly, an obvious edge in his voice.

The challenge hung in the air between her father and the Warden. A secret part of her hoped that Duncan would indeed invoke the Warden’s oldest Right, to recruit any individual they wished: man or woman, slave or king, none were immune to the Right of Conscription. If Duncan were to invoke it here, her father would have no choice but to let her go. Fergus or Ser Gilmore could manage Highever’s defenses. There would be no higher duty than to keep her people and the people of all Thedas safe from a Blight. Surely her father could understand this!

“Have no fear,” she heard Duncan reply. “While we need as many good recruits as we can find, I’ve no intention of forcing the issue.” Damn him, didn’t he understand she _wanted_ him to force the issue, to force her father’s hand?

Her father nodded, satisfied with the Warden’s response. “Pup, can you ensure that Duncan’s requests are seen to while I’m gone?”

“Of course,” she assured him with a small smile. “It would be an honor.” Perhaps she could speak to Duncan once he was away from her father, convince him to take her anyway? If she were suddenly conscripted, her father would be forced to send someone back to take care of her duties while she stepped into a larger role.

“In the meantime, find Fergus and tell him to lead the troops to Ostagar ahead of me. He should be upstairs in his chambers, no doubt spending some last moments with his wife and my grandson.” She could have felt the pointed look he gave her through a stone wall. “Be a good lass and do as I’ve asked. We’ll talk soon.”

Elissa curtsied to her father and their guests as well as she could wearing trousers rather than dress. “Master Warden, have someone fetch me if there is anything that you need. I’ll see to it that chambers are prepared for you and have your supper arranged.” She threw a brief glance at her father’s friend. “Arl Howe.”

Letting out an expansive breath, Elissa let herself collapse against the door as she closed it behind her. First her dream this morning, and now a Warden recruiter in her home. She generally believed the Chantry’s teaching that the Maker did not watch over or guide humanity in any literal sense, but it seemed too much for coincidence. Surely her dream was an omen that she had a greater duty to fulfill than to babysit the local garrison while those closest to her risked their lives to hold back the darkspawn hordes. Sighing slightly, she straightened herself and headed to find her brother, both to deliver their father’s message and to say goodbye to him herself.

* * *

 

Sleep would not come easily to Elissa that night. She’d spent much of what was left of her day with Fergus and his family, carrying Oren on her shoulders and telling him some of the adventure stories her brother used to tell her when they were children. The rest of it was spent cleaning up a mess Moira had caused in the kitchens and avoiding her mother and Lady Landra.

Landra was known to enjoy her wines, and at the teyrna’s salon last spring was found quite drunk with a mortified Ser Gilmore cornered in a store room not far off the main dining hall. Aside from drinking too much and terrifying her father’s knights, Landra’s favorite activity when in Highever was to throw her son, Dairren, at Elissa at every turn. Elissa had no interest in Dairren and he had none in her. Lady Landra was perhaps tragically, perhaps blissfully unaware of certain arrangements between her son and her lady-in-waiting. Elissa knew this because servants’ gossip; how Landra did not see or hear of it was a mystery.

There was a loud clatter somewhere on the grounds, and Elissa swore to herself as she dragged herself out of bed to see if she could find the source of the noise from her window. The majority of the keep’s troops had left that evening not long after supper so perhaps these were Howe’s forces arriving? No, it couldn’t be that; she could hear the clash of steel on steel from here. Irate that her sleep was further delayed, she hesitated barely a moment before strapping herself into her armor and snatching up one of her daggers. If the remaining men were going to start a fight, at least she’d get to vent her frustration by ending it.

She spun on her heel and stalked to the main door from her chambers to the rest of the family apartments she realized Moira was bristled at the door, a low growl in the hound’s throat. Elissa slowed her step and listened briefly before unlocking the door to venture outside. The sounds of weapons clashing sounded as if they were just outside her door. Cracking the door slowly she peered into the foyer between the family’s various chambers. No sooner than she saw the men, two arrows hit her door with a heavy thud. She slammed the door shut, running to retrieve her sword. She knew she’d have to move quickly if she was going to get close enough to the archer to at least disarm him, and the added reach of a sword in addition to her dagger could shave off the second that meant the difference between life and death.

Elissa cautiously pulled the door open again and assessed the scene. At least two of the keep’s guards lay dead between her and the exit to the rest of the castle, and from the sound of it at least two men, possibly three, were trying to gain entry to her parents’ quarters.

 _Maker, let there be only one archer._ With only that brief prayer she sprinted from the room toward her parents’ door. Two men were attempting to work the lock with their backs turned to her, and the third was the archer from before. He saw her immediately but before he could alert his companions her dagger had left her hand, flying toward the archer. She didn’t have the best aim when throwing her daggers, but this one hit close enough to cause the damage she hoped for. As he crumpled she saw the emblem on the shields of the men behind him: the bear crest of Amaranthine.

Her body reacted instinctively, not even registering her actions as that image burned in her mind. The arl’s troops weren’t delayed at all; the bastard had planned this from the beginning. Just as she was about to face down the third intruder an arrow snapped past her head to strike the man in the throat. Turning she saw her mother, the Teyrna Eleanor Cousland, in full leathers and wielding a bow of her own.

The worry was plain on the teyrna’s face as she ran forward. “Darling! I heard fighting outside and I feared the worst! Are you hurt?” Her mother fussed over her a moment, assuring herself that her daughter was unharmed. “Did you see their shields? Those are Howe’s men! Why would they attack us?!”

“I don’t know, Mother, but we have to get you out of here. Where’s Father?” Elissa was thinking as quickly as she could, trying to ensure that her family escaped this attack safely. But something was escaping her that she couldn’t place.

“He never came to bed! We must find him!”

Glancing at the bodies in the room with them, Elissa felt as if her stomach had turned to lead. “Mother... We should check on Oriana and Oren as well.”

Eleanor paled. “Andraste’s mercy! What if the soldiers went into your brother’s rooms first?” Wordlessly, the two Cousland women ran for the door to Fergus’s chambers. The door was cracked, and before even entering Elissa could smell the tang of blood. Pressing into the room she suddenly turned and retched. The inner foyer was bathed in crimson, the limp bodies of her sister-in-law and nephew tossed haphazardly to one side.

 

* * *

 

When Elissa came to she was in the countryside perhaps an hour’s ride from Highever. Though she had no memory of leaving the keep, she felt as if she had never stopped moving, never stopped fighting. She felt a heavy weight at her back, and realized she was carrying an extra sword and a shield in addition to her own dagger and sword. Moira whined a bit as the hound followed behind, and Elissa wondered if the dog had been with her the entire night. Just a short way ahead she could see a dark skinned man who seemed to be leading her south, and when he turned to check on her she realized it was Duncan.

_Howe._

Howe’s betrayal and her father’s insistence that she join Duncan following this coup came back to her, and Elissa remembered fighting her way through the castle at her mother’s side, retrieving the family blade and shield to protect them from Howe’s whims and proceeding to find her father helping servants escape through a hidden passage in the kitchens. He had been pinned down by Howe’s men, and while he had fought them off he was laying bleeding out onto the floor of the larder by the time they reached him. Mother had insisted on staying behind, and Elissa was forced to leave them to die.

Duncan had named one condition as his price for escorting her safely to Fergus at Ostagar. He had come to Highever seeking a recruit for the Wardens, and as he was denied the opportunity to assess Ser Gilmore’s suitability for the position he would claim Elissa to fill that role instead. Her parents agreed, and with barely a moment to say goodbye Duncan took her sharply by the arm and dragged her down the passage out of the castle as her mother covered their escape.

Elissa had always wanted to become a Grey Warden. But not like this.

 

* * *

 

        Duncan kept Elissa walking the entire night, stopping only as the eastern horizon finally began to blush a golden rose. “Here,” he said quietly, tossing her some jerky from his pack. “You’ll need to eat to keep your strength; I do not intend to stop any more often than absolutely necessary until we reach Ostagar.”

        Elissa tore off a piece of the meat. “I understand.” She couldn’t believe how weak and raw her voice was. “It’s weeks to Ostagar from here, though, and Howe’s sure to realize that I escaped last night. I have to get to Fergus and tell him what’s happened before Howe can get to either of us. I should also deliver these, I suppose,” she added, gesturing at the extra blade and shield. “He’ll be the next teyrn if I can get to him before Howe does, so these are his now.”

        “Of course, your Grace. There are enough byways through the Bannorn that we should be able to catch up with your brother’s forces by the time they reach Ostagar. Possibly even by the time they reach Lothering.”

“Don’t call me that,” Elissa whispered, tears suddenly falling to her cheek. She looked back at where Duncan was sitting while he let her rest. “That form is used for a teyrn or teyrna, no one else. Until I know beyond a doubt that Fergus is also lost to me, the title is his and his alone.”

“Very well, my lady,” he consented. “In the meantime, I know you have little with you but I suggest that you allow me to take anything that you can spare into a village not far from here to sell. I have some few supplies, but we’ll need more than we have if we’re going to reach Ostagar.”

Literally the only thing she had that she could spare was the pendant her mother had given her for her last birthday, but she unlocked the clasp and handled it to him wordlessly. Hiding in a small copse of trees a mile or so off the road, she waited while Duncan went into the town to trade.

He returned an hour later, tossing her a bedroll, a small knapsack and a cloak. Peering inside the bag she saw a few changes of clothes, some food, a fire starter, and a whet stone.

“My necklace got all this?” she asked, genuinely surprised. It had been gold, certainly, but the stone set in the pendant wasn’t particularly rare or valuable—just one she had thought was pretty.

Duncan allowed himself a slight smile. “While everything there was procured legally, I wasn’t always the noble Warden, sacrificing all for the cause. There are quite a few unethical ways to increase or decrease the value of goods in barter.”

Eyes narrowing, Elissa peered at him. “Was it threats, or trickery?” she asked, smirking in spite of her situation. She suddenly suspected Duncan had not always been the stern man he now appeared to be.

“Flattery works just as well as either, my lady,” he shrugged, “and sometimes to a greater degree.” He peered eastward for a moment before glancing south again. “If you’ve rested enough, we should get moving. Use that cloak to cover your family arms as well as you can. You’ll need it for warmth as we move south but I suspect for now, it will be more important to conceal anything that may identify you should we encounter men loyal to the Arl.”

“Yes, ser,” she nodded, arranging the cloak. That she carried an additional sword and shield was still obvious, but at least the Cousland laurel wreaths were now hidden. “But I certainly hope you’ll educate me on the way. I know only the legends of the Wardens of old, the tale of Commander Dryden’s rebellion, and that Maric allowed the order to return while my mother was carrying me. If I’m going to become a Warden, I’ll need to know more than just fairy tales and decades-old court gossip.”

“That you know even Sophia Dryden’s name tells me that you already know more of the true history of the Wardens than most recruits before their Joining, but very well. I will tell you what you are permitted to know prior to your Joining as we move.”

 

* * *

 

Duncan kept them moving at a grueling, but not impossible pace; stopping only at night and allowing only a few hours’ sleep even then. He hadn’t been lying about needing the cloak for warmth—Elissa had never been this far south at this time of year. He also wouldn’t allow any but the smallest cook fires as they travelled, so while at least Elissa was able to fill her belly with fresh hare caught by Moira once they stopped each night, she was certain her toes would snap off if she tried to remove her boots.

He was true to his promise to educate her on the Warden’s history, however. He began with Garahel’s defeat of the archdemon Andoral at the Battle of Ayesleigh—though he wouldn’t clarify when she asked how archdemons had names and how the Wardens knew them—and continued through the exile from and eventual return of the Wardens to Ferelden, including Maric’s own disappearance with a party of Wardens some twenty years ago.

Elissa had heard the story of how Maric had briefly run away in shame following Queen Rowan’s death, but was surprised to learn that Duncan was a member of the party involved in that incident. She tried pressing the matter, to discover what they had done in the king’s absence from court, but he refused her every attempt to wheedle the information from him. “Perhaps another time,” was all he would tell her when she asked, and he would then fall silent for hours.

It was well after dark when they stopped the fourth night, and when she rose the next morning the southern horizon was black for as far as she could see. She presumed at first the brooding darkness was merely a far off storm blocking the rays of the rising sun. As the day pressed on and they continued their way south the darkness persisted and the clouds of the southern skies seemed to roil in place, never moving. There did seem to be lightning at times, but Elissa couldn’t be certain at this distance. In any case, they reminded her of boiling pitch she’d seen once when the Highever troops were training, simulating a siege to the keep.

The ominous clouds spooked her more than she anticipated, and she did not pester Duncan with questions that day as she had all the others. They set camp for the night earlier than usual that day. Grateful that she’d be able to get more sleep than she’d had in a week Elissa didn’t question the decision, though she found it almost as difficult to sleep that night as she had the night of Howe’s coup. After dozing only a few hours, huddled against Moira for warmth, she woke and could not sleep again. Duncan had allowed the fire to burn for once to help keep the increasing wild animals at bay, and as she sat up groggily she realized he was still awake, gazing solemnly into its flames.

“That storm in the south. It’s the Blight, not a true storm, isn’t it?” she asked quietly. She was certain she knew the answer, but the question had to be asked.

Duncan nodded silently after a moment. Standing, he looked south into the darkness. “That it is. A storm is brewing as well, and will likely hit by tomorrow night or the night after, but what you’ve been seeing all day is a result of the darkspawn’s taint across the Kocari Wilds. If we Wardens fail our duty, that taint will spread first across Ferelden, and then on to the rest of Thedas.” He studied her carefully. “You know the stories and you have learned what history you are permitted to know before being officially inducted as a Warden yourself. You understand that most Wardens do not survive a Blight, and that no Warden who has ever faced an Archdemon has lived regardless of whether he managed to slay the beast. _Every one_ has died of his wounds following the battle. The senior Wardens protect the junior ones whenever it is possible, but anything can happen. Are you prepared to face this risk?”

Elissa was frightened by the sudden direness of his tone but nodded as confidently as she could manage. “The old tales I learned as a child may have focused on the glory of the Wardens, ser, but I am a Cousland. I will always do my duty.”

 


	2. The Wilds

The Old Gods will call to you,  
From their ancient prisons they will sing.  
Dragons with wicked eyes and wicked hearts,  
On blacken'd wings does deceit take flight,  
The first of My children, lost to night.  
 _-Silence 3:6, Dissonant Verse_

 

They arrived in Ostagar early on the sixth morning. Word of their coming must have travelled ahead of them, as King Cailan greeted them himself as they reached the outskirts of the ruin. She had met the king many times both before and after Maric’s death and Cailan’s own coronation, but it had been at least two years since she had last seen him. Even the darkspawn threat could not dampen his spirit it seemed; he spoke as lightly as he might to ask the weather before a tourney or festival. Perhaps even lighter than he would then; the king was very fond of his tourneys in particular. In many ways, the king was little more than an overgrown child.

Were the circumstances different she would have greeted him freely; Elissa’s mind was in other places, however, and did not notice at first when he actually addressed her. Duncan had offered to introduce them, but Cailan shrugged it off. “No need, Duncan. You are Bryce’s youngest, are you not? I don’t think we’ve ever actually met.”

“Yes, your Majesty, though we’ve met quite a few times,” she corrected him with a slight nod of her head. “You remember the tomboy that used to follow Fergus to the practice fields when he was younger, don’t you?”

Cailan’s brow furrowed a moment, a dim recollection beginning to light in his eye. Elissa responded with a florid curtsy, even in her armor and grinned up at him, allowing a hint of the rambunctious girl she use to be shine for just that moment.

The king’s eyes grew wide. “Maker’s breath! Fergus never called you by your name then, and I never knew! He had a nickname for you, didn’t he? Maker, what was it he called you?”

“I believe it was ‘Lispy’ if I remember correctly,” she replied. “I had long since outgrown the impediment by the time you and I first met. But older brothers being as they are, Fergus reminded me constantly. Until I nearly broke his nose for it in practice one day, at any rate.”

Cailan laughed then, not noticing how her face had darkened. “Speaking of my brother, your Majesty, I-” her throat tightened suddenly and she found it difficult to speak. She had practiced her words both for Fergus and the king as she and Duncan travelled, but now those words stuck in throat. Elissa took a deep breath and tried to begin again when Cailan filled the silence.

“Your brother arrived yesterday with Highever’s men, but we are still awaiting your father.”

“So... you don’t know what’s happened?” Had they truly travelled faster than the messengers Howe was sure to have sent bearing whatever tale he intended to tell of the incident?

The king glanced at Duncan before addressing Elissa again. “News from the north has been unreliable. What’s happened?” As she began to speak, a rogue tear escaped and spilled down her cheek. Crossing her arms self-consciously, she could only stare at the king’s feet.

“Teyrn Cousland and his wife are dead, your Majesty,” she heard Duncan saying. “Arl Howe has shown himself a traitor and overtaken Highever Castle. Had we not escaped, he would have killed us and told you any story he wished.”

Turning and walking away a few steps, Cailan shook his head. “I... can scarcely believe it!” He turned first to Duncan, and then to Elissa. “How could he think he would get away with such treachery! As soon as we are done here, I will turn my army north and bring Howe to justice. You have my word, my lady.”

As much as the promise of justice comforted Elissa, his childlike disbelief troubled her. Ferelden may have been united these four hundred years, but it was still a land of feuds between the various lords. It was rare that those feuds spilled out of the Bannorn and into the higher nobles’ courts, but it was far from unheard of. But her father had made it clear before he died that her first duty now was to the Wardens; she would have to trust the king to bring Howe to justice and restore Fergus to his proper place in Highever.

“Thank you, your Majesty,” was all she could say, with the slightest of nods. Then, remembering her second duty, “What of Fergus? I... I need to deliver the news and our ancestral arms to him before joining the Wardens. With Father... gone... he is teyrn now, and they are his.”

“I understand. Unfortunately, he and his men are scouting in the Wilds. Truthfully, he is not expected to return until the battle is over.”

Elissa thought a moment. “Are any of my brother’s officers in the camp? I am loathe to pass this duty on to another, but if it must be done then I have no choice.”

“Honestly, I haven’t a clue. You’re welcome to explore the camp if your duties to the Wardens permit you the time, but otherwise keep your family’s arms until we can meet with Fergus properly, together. You may be with the Wardens now, but it will no doubt be good for morale for your family’s crest to be officially seen, both in camp and on the battlefield.”

She hadn’t thought of that previously, but it was probably true. Most of the soldiers in the camp would see the Cousland crest and sword and be encouraged by the support of her family. Very few would notice the teyrn’s daughter carried them rather than her father, and even fewer would guess the reason.

“I’ll do that, ser.”

Cailan smiled encouragingly, but then sighed himself. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I should return to my tent. Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with his strategies. We’ve won three battles against these monsters and tomorrow should be no different.”

Glancing at the oily clouds above them, Elissa frowned doubtfully. “It sounds as if the Blight is almost over.”

“Your Majesty,” Duncan began carefully, “I’m not certain the Blight can be ended quite as... quickly as you might wish.”

“I’m not even sure this is a true Blight. We’ve seen no sign of an archdemon.”

“Disappointed, your Majesty?”

Elissa could barely stomach to listen to Cailan after that. He stared wistfully into the distant storm, blathering about riding to glory alongside the Wardens. She wouldn’t have been surprised had he mentioned flying griffons, but thankfully the king seemed to at least understand not all the old tales could come true again. She wished desperately to excuse herself to look for one of her brother’s officers, but felt she shouldn’t leave until she knew what Duncan expected of her and when she would be needed for the Joining he had mentioned.

It occurred to her idly that he had never actually mentioned what the Joining was. Some sort of initiation, obviously, as he had stated many times as they traveled that he could tell her no more on one topic or another before she took her Joining, but that didn’t give her any hints as to what a Joining was. Finally, Cailan excused himself and left, followed by his few guards.

Gesturing forward, Duncan led Elissa into the ruin. “I thought to give you time to seek out your brother,” he began as she followed, “but as he is not in the camp I feel we should proceed with the Joining ritual without delay.”

Reluctantly, Elissa agreed. “What do you need me to do?”

“We have until nightfall to begin, but every recruit must go through what we call the Joining in order to become a Grey Warden. It is brief, but some preparation is required. We must begin soon, so rest briefly if you must, but do not tarry long and do not leave the camp for the time being. There is another Grey Warden in the camp by the name of Alistair. When you are ready, seek him out and tell him it’s time to summon the other recruits.” He paused at a gateway overlooking a great chasm spanned by heavy stone, “Your hound can stay with me while I attend to some business. The Warden tent is on the other side of this bridge. Find me there, when you are ready.”

He left her then, Moira following behind him without waiting for instruction. _Damned mabari is too smart for her own good sometimes._

 

* * *

 

Duncan had left her with nothing but a name to seek out this other Warden, so she asked after him as she explored the camp. She found a few who knew of him, but no one who’d seen where he had gone. Pausing briefly to resupply with the quartermaster, she continued east through the ruin. She’d entered an area that appeared to be some sort of hall extending to the north and south, glancing each way. She saw no one, only a table at the north end with maps spread across it, held down at their edges with an assortment of rocks, spare equipment, and not a few bottles of wine.

She was just about to leave when she heard an argument from the south and decided to investigate. If nothing else, she could ask after this Alistair again if she interrupted. She found a young man in armor, probably close to her in age, and an older mage bickering with one another.

“...Should I have asked her to write a note?” the younger man asked the mage innocently, seeking to goad the mage into further anger.

The mage stiffened. “Tell her I will not be harassed in this manner!”

“Yes, ser mage, _I_ was harassing _you_ by delivering a _message_.”

“Your glibness does you no credit,” the older man sneered.

“Oh, and here I thought we were getting along so well,” the younger man sighed. He then noticed Elissa and winked before continuing, “I was even going to name one of my children after you... _the grumpy one._ ”

Elissa stifled a small laugh and the mage spun to glare at her. “Enough! I will speak to the woman if I must! Get out of my way, fool!”

As the mage stalked away, the younger man approached Elissa with a small smile. “You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.”

“You’re a very strange man, but somehow I know exactly what you mean,” she laughed. Maker, it felt good to laugh. When was the last time she’d sincerely done so? It felt as if it’d been years.

Encouraged, he continued. “It’s like a party: we could all stand in a circle and hold hands. _That_ would give the darkspawn something to think about!” He paused a moment, a suspicious look crossing his face. “Wait, we haven’t met, have we? I don’t suppose you happen to be another mage?”

Elissa was completely taken aback, and actually stopped to check over herself. She wore her leathers and boots, a sword strapped to one hip and a dagger to the other, plus her family’s sword and shield now prominently displayed on her back. He _was_ joking still, right?

“Ah... no, I’m no mage.”

He grinned. “Less being yelled at for me, then. Though the day is still young.” He seemed to be looking behind her, and she realized he’d noticed that she was carrying two sets of weapons. “Wait, I _do_ know who you are. You’re Duncan’s new recruit, from Highever. I should have recognized you right away. I apologize, my lady.”

Wincing, she realized that Cailan seemed to be right on one matter, at least: people obviously would recognize the Cousland crest. “That’s all right. No offense taken. But... wait, are you Alistair, then?” He nodded. “Well then,” she began again, “my duty now is to the Wardens first, and only after can I consider my duty to my home. I suspect that once this Joining that Duncan has mentioned is over, though, I won’t have much claim to Highever even if Cailan is successful in helping my brother retake the city.”

“Retake the city? From who- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry.” He was staring at the sword on her back again, and she knew he was beginning to guess why she wore it. “As the junior member of the order, I’ll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining.”

“Very well. I’m Elissa.”

“Right! That was the name! You know... it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?”

Was he seriously _blushing_? She let herself smirk at him. “I can handle myself better than most.” It was insane, but it felt good to be able to banter with someone, anyone, the way she would have during her practice time back home.

They chatted more while they returned to Duncan’s tent, about his first encounter with a darkspawn, about two other recruits that had been awaiting her arrival before taking the Joining themselves, and about the mage she’d seen him tormenting earlier. Halfway to where they were to meet Duncan, Alistair excused himself to retrieve the other two recruits.

As they parted, she casually mentioned that she was looking forward to travelling with him. It seemed to take him by surprise, and she couldn’t be positive, but she could have sworn she heard him mumble, “That’s a switch,” as they continued their separate ways.

 

* * *

 

They’d been in the Wilds for hours now, and had stopped for a few moments to catch their collective breath. Duncan had given them two tasks as their preparation for the Joining: collect three full vials of blood from any darkspawn they crossed, and to search a hidden ruin for documents the Wardens had been forced to abandon ages before. They’d collected two vials and almost had their third one full. She was surprised how difficult it had been to collect enough of the blood to satisfy Duncan’s requirement. Though the darkspawn were all at least the size of men even when shaped more as monsters, most of them bled very little when cut and what blood did spill thickened quickly to an ooze that resembled curdled milk in composition.

The darkspawn themselves were more horrific than anything Elissa could have ever imagined. An officer in the camp had brought back the corpse of one called a hurlock for the soldiers to familiarize themselves with, but to see a corpse propped up like some mannequin and to face one were nothing alike. Even more, there were more varieties of the spawn than she realized: more bear-like ones called genlocks, plus others taller and faster that Alistair couldn’t remember the “fancy name of” as he put it and simply referred to as shrieks in addition to the almost man-like hurlocks. Even more, a handful of the hurlocks—Alistair called them emissaries—threw spells spanning all the known elements at Elissa and the other recruits.

Elissa shifted her weight so that her legs were long in front of her, toes to the sky, and stretched forward across them. As she brought her head to her knees she heard the cutpurse Daveth whistle and she rolled her eyes. He was better company than Ser Jory, who had been briefly stationed in her father’s garrison a year or two earlier, but she was getting tired of the constant ogling. Some attention was fine, under the right circumstances. Daveth refused to understand that this was not one of those circumstances and that she was not in the mood for his… _appreciation_. Alistair had remained silent almost all of the time they had been in the Wilds, his attention elsewhere. At times he seemed to cock his head to one side, as if listening to something the rest of them couldn’t hear. He suddenly scowled, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword.

“Let’s move. There’s a large group moving around up ahead, but they don’t know we’re here yet. Daveth, take point and find the highest ground you can while still keeping me in your sights. Keep your eyes open for an emissary; there’s at least one in the group and it’s going to save a lot of time if you can pick him off quickly once the fight begins.”

Suddenly silent, Daveth sheathed his daggers, strung his longbow, and disappeared into the brush as Alistair continued. “Jory, focus on the genlocks as much as possible. If there’s more than one emissary or if there’s only one but Daveth can’t get close enough to clear it out I’ll have to focus on them.” The knight confirmed he understood.

Alistair turned to Elissa. “I know we’ve picked off most of them before you’ve needed to get close up until now, but can you handle the shrieks? They’re fast, but what few darkspawn are capable of strategy are used to fighting men, not women. They’re much taller than you so I think you should be able to duck under their reach if you’re quick enough.”

She swallowed nervously. She understood what he meant, to duck under the shrieks before they had time to adjust their strategy to her slight build, but her mind wouldn’t stop screaming, _DARKSPAWN!_ and urging her to flee rather than face any of the beasts again. “I understand,” she whispered. She began to draw her weapons, and Alistair shook his head.

“No, that’s not going to do at all,” he frowned, gesturing at her extra equipment. “Look, I know what those are, and I know what it means for you to have them. I’ve let you hold on to them this long because genlocks sometimes figure out how to work a bow but carrying that stuff is going to slow you down too much against the shrieks. Duncan will kill me himself if I let any of you get hurt out here, so give those to me for now.” Elissa stepped back instinctively as he stepped toward her.

“Oh, don’t give me that look! I can work around their extra bulk, and I’ll keep them safe until this fight is done. I swear it.”

Realizing he was right about them slowing her down, she unhooked the straps keeping her family’s sword and shield on her back and all but threw them at him. “I expect those returned to me unscathed,” she hissed as she drew her own sword and dagger and stalked past him in the direction Daveth and Jory had gone, Alistair shaking his head behind her and switching her equipment with his as quickly as he could, readying his own weapons and following behind.

As the three of them approached a rickety bridge Daveth ghosted along above them somewhere out of Elissa’s sight. She didn’t know if he was somewhere in the trees or on the ridge behind the treetops, but it was quickly obvious that his range would be limited if the fight was on the other side of the bridge itself. Taking in as much of the scene as she could before the fight began glints of light in the mud on either side of the bridge caught her eye.

“Watch your step down there,” she whispered, gesturing at the bridge. Neither Alistair nor Jory seemed to see anything wrong. “By the Maker,” she swore quietly. “In the mud, you can just see the teeth of claw traps poking through. Unless the two of you think you can cover me while I take care of those _and_ still kill darkspawn, be good boys and don’t trigger them to begin with.”

Alistair actually had the nerve to grin at her before starting toward the bridge. “I think we can handle that, can’t we, Jory?”

“For that, you’re not only returning my father’s equipment to me unscathed, you’re going to be cleaning it for the next week if you let _any_ mud get on it—or blood, darkspawn or your own!” she snapped.

He grinned again before motioning for them to be silent. “They’re just coming up on the other side of the bridge. Much as I was hoping to lure them to this side so Daveth has an easier time that’s not going to happen.” He paused, frowning.

“There’s a kind of hurlock you two haven’t seen yet, and I’m fairly positive there’s one in this group. No matter what happens, do _not_ engage him. Either one of you would be safer facing the emissary alone than this one.”

Elissa and Jory both nodded silently in reply. Alistair’s tone didn’t leave any room for discussion.

“Elissa, I think it’s just the one shriek, but don’t let your guard down. It’s behind the hurlock right now, so I’ll get that one’s attention. Get past the big one to your shriek. Once you finish it, take whatever is nearest to you so long as it’s not the one I warned you about. Jory, do the same with whatever’s left when you finish the genlocks.”

He ran for the bridge then, not waiting for their replies. He roared a challenge at the darkspawn, and in an instant they were on him. Jory ran passed her to engage the genlocks that surged forward, but no matter where she looked she couldn’t see her target. There was a shout from Daveth above her, and turning she suddenly, instinctively leapt backward about a yard just as blades and claws sliced down where she had been just moments before.

The shriek cried out in anger, swiping at her again but she dove forward, rolling and coming up under its reach as Alistair had suggested. Aiming her sword up as best she could as she rose, she sliced at the beast and was rewarded with what could only be a cry of pain. Spinning back to face it again she saw one arm hanging limp at its side and she charged it. Tackling the beast with her blades crossed before her, she managed to force it to the mud with her momentum. The edge of her sword pressed against the monster’s throat as it fell beneath her, and with one swift movement black blood spewed from its veins and across her face.

Wiping the blood from her eyes, she tried to make her next target. In spite of the distance Daveth had managed to dispatch the emissary and was now picking off the genlocks and few normal hurlocks surrounding Jory, none of which seemed to take note of her.

She heard a clatter and spun around to find Alistair on his back maybe thirty yards away, trying to fight back a hurlock more massive than any of the others she’d seen—nearly the size of the ogres Alistair had described to them earlier that afternoon. Most of the other darkspawn they’d seen that day were armored, but very few had worn helms. This one wore nearly a full suit of plate and a heavy helm bearing a long, curved horn extended from each side, and it seemed to have a guard to cover the hurlock’s face.

The hurlock had reversed its hold on its great sword and seemed about to plunge it down into Alistair. Its back was to her, however, and if she was fast she could probably get there in time to distract it. Tossing her sword aside she ran for the hurlock, taking her dagger in her teeth as she leapt forward, freeing both hands to grab hold to the horns on the massive helm as she landed on the beast’s back. Scrambling into a more stable position and barely dodging its sword as it dropped it in the mud behind them she found a stable footing in a nook of its armor and took her dagger in her main hand. Pulling backward on the heavy helm with her other hand as hard as she could she dipped her dagger under the front edge and ripped the blade across its throat.

Blood spilled across her hands, down the hurlock’s front, and over Alistair in the mud below. She reversed her grip and drove the dagger down under its breastplate as far as she could as it collapsed, finally ceasing to move but for a few final twitches as the creature’s brain finally registered the fact the heart had already learned: their master was dead. She rose from where the beast had collapsed, coated head to toe in mud and gore, before falling again in exhaustion.

There was a low whistle, and glancing up she saw Daveth approaching the scene of the battle as Jory gaped at her in horror. “Oy, Ser Knight,” he drawled. “Next time I get an itch, remind me not to ask that one to scratch it for me.”

 

* * *

 

“ _What_ in the Maker’s name were you thinking? Didn’t I _explicitly_ tell you _not_ to engage the hurlock—that I would handle him?”

Elissa ignored Alistair for a moment, continuing to wash the gore from her face in what passed for clean water in this blighted swamp. When she was convinced that she had removed as much of it as she could without soap and a proper bath, she finally turned on him.

“What was I thinking? You’re _really_ going to have the balls to ask me that after I just saved your life? Sure, ser ‘Duncan will kill me if any of you get hurt’, how do you think he’ll react when his three recruits return without their Warden mentor? Do you _really_ expect he’d trade any of the three of us, not yet true Wardens, for one he knows has already completed whatever in the Void your blasted Joining is?”

He shifted from one foot to another like a guilty child. Shutting her eyes, she sighed heavily. “I may not be a Warden yet, Alistair, but I am still duty bound to them. _A Cousland never leaves her duty undone_ ,” she quoted bitterly.

She paused then, a somewhat evil thought occurring to her, and she eyed him slowly from head to toe, deliberately trying to make him uncomfortable. “I hope that’s something you can say for yourself, by the way. From the looks of it you’ll be caring for my equipment for much longer than the next week. You’ve got an additional duty of your own to keep up with now.”

Alistair flushed, and she smiled sweetly, patting him on the cheek as she passed. “Do be a good boy and retrieve my sword for me. I’ll scout up ahead while you clean it nice and pretty. Remember, I want to see my face shining even in the leather by the time you’re done with it.”

“As you wish, my lady,” he sighed dejectedly, obeying without argument.

Daveth laughed as he and Jory followed behind their party’s new leader. “Got you by the balls, she does,” he whispered as he passed Alistair. The Warden scowled, following behind silently as he polished her blade clean.

They arrived at the ruin they were seeking a short while later only to find the chest meant to contain the documents shattered. The day was wearing on, but Elissa didn’t want to return to Duncan empty handed if it could be avoided, so she knelt by the remains of the chest, searching for any clue of who or what had emptied the chest once it had decayed.

Even if she did have to accept defeat in this matter, they wouldn’t technically be returning from a failed mission. They’d been able to fill the third vial after the last battle, and Duncan did state that the three vials of blood were the most important goal that they had. Just as she was about to tell the others it was time to return to camp there was a tsk-ing behind her in the ruin.

“Well, well, what have we here?” A tall woman with raven hair strolled casually out of the ruin itself. “Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned?” The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?”

“What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?”

“I am neither,” Elissa leveled her gaze at the woman. “The Grey Wardens once owned this tower and I am here on their behalf. We have come to retrieve documents that once were housed here. If you know where we can find them, we’ll take them and leave you to your own devices.”

“Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish; I am not threatened. Though I have watched your progress for some time. ‘Where do they go,’ I wondered, ‘why are they here?’ And now you disturb ashes none have touched for so long.”

“Don’t answer her,” Elissa heard Alistair whisper from behind her. “She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby.”

The dark woman laughed ominously. “You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?”

“Yes, swooping is _bad_.”

“She’s a Witch of the Wilds, she is!” Daveth suddenly blurted. “She’ll turn us into toads!”

Sneering at Daveth, the wild woman addressed Elissa directly. “You there. Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine.”

“I am Elissa. A pleasure to meet you.” She had no idea if she could or should trust this woman, but a teyrn’s daughter who could not be diplomatic was a shame on her family and her training.

“Now that is a proper civil greeting, even here in the Wilds. You may call me Morrigan. You sought something in that chest you said, no? Something that is here no longer?”

“‘Here no longer?’” Alistair scoffed. “You stole them, didn’t you? You’re… some kind of… sneaky… witch-thief!” Elissa pinched the bridge of her nose nearly hard enough to bruise. This was almost as bad as listening to Cailan wish for honor and glory alongside the Wardens.

“How _very_ eloquent,” Morrigan mocked. “How does one steal from dead men?”

“Quite easily it seems. I suggest you return them.”

“That’s enough, Alistair,” she snapped then. “Morrigan, do you have them, or know where we can find them? As I said originally, once we have them we’ll leave you to your devices.”

“’Twas my mother, in fact, who removed them. _You_ have been sensible in spite of your companions. I like you, and will take you to her. Follow me, if it pleases you. I cannot promise you these documents you seek, but you can ask Mother if she will release them to you.”

Elissa began to follow her into the woods and heard Alistair muttering behind her. “I’d be careful. First it’s ‘I like you!’ then ZAP! Frog time.”

After a short walk they approached a hut in the middle of the wilderness, a wizened crone outside, waiting for them.

“Mother, I bring before you four Grey Wardens who—”

“I see them, girl. Mmm. Much as I expected.” Elissa hadn’t realized it before, but mother and daughter both had eyes the color of amber, and the crone seemed to use them to peer into her very being.

Alistair spoke before she could stop him. “Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?”

“You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut one’s eyes tight or open one’s arms wide… either way, one’s a fool!” she declared as she glared pointedly at him.

Elissa smiled graciously at Morrigan and her mother, then turned to her companions. “If you won’t stop acting like children, then shut your mouths!” she hissed. “We were sent out here with a specific task and I’ll not return empty handed because any of you decided to smart off to someone who could help us!”

Turning back to the old woman apologetically, Elissa caught that soul-baring gaze again. “And what of you?” the woman asked.

“We are here seeking documents once held in the Grey Warden ruins, and Morrigan said you may be able to help us. We will not disturb you beyond that.”

“That wasn’t an answer to the question I was asking you, but I’ll accept that it is an honest and direct response to the question you believed you were presented. Very well.” She walked away from them then, entering the hut. Elissa wondered if she were meant to follow, but Morrigan remained outside so she stayed as well. Morrigan’s mother returned a moment later bearing three impossibly ancient scrolls, cradling them in her arms as one would a babe.

She continued speaking then, but whether to Elissa or the scrolls in her arms it was impossible to tell. “So much about you is uncertain… and yet I believe. Do I? Why, it seems I do!”

Her eyes burned as she relinquished the scrolls to Elissa, who stowed them as carefully as she could in her pack. “Take these to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight’s threat is greater than they realize!”

Elissa nodded. “I don’t understand how the Wardens could underestimate a Blight, but thank you for returning these. We’ll leave you now, if you’ll excuse us.”

“Morrigan!” the old woman snapped. “Lead them back to their camp. There is much to be done tonight, and they do not have time to spare meandering about in our forest.”

 

* * *

 

There was maybe an hour left of daylight as they delivered the scrolls, which Alistair had explained on the way were treaties pledging support to the Wardens in a blight, and the three vials of blood to Duncan. Alistair then led them back to the place where she had found him earlier that day—she could hardly believe it was the same day—to await Duncan to arrive for the Joining himself.

Alistair had fallen silent again, while Jory whined about being tested and Daveth countered with what she felt was a surprising dedication to the duty of the Wardens, considering his history. She wanted to snap at them again, to tell them to be quiet, but her own nerves were wound tight as well and she didn’t trust her temper. Duncan finally joined them then, and the two fell quiet.

What seemed like days later but couldn’t have been more than an hour, Elissa awoke to find Duncan and Alistair both huddled over her. Her head throbbed, and as she sat up she saw the bodies around her and remembered everything that had happened: Daveth drinking from the large chalice that now lay discarded behind them, choking as his eyes went white and he gurgled his last breaths. Ser Jory’s look of terror as he drew his sword and tried to escape, then Duncan’s own blade piercing his heart. Finally her own turn, lifting the cup to her lips and forcing herself to gulp down what remained of the black, lyrium-infused blood it contained. There was a searing pain throughout her whole being, and then she had collapsed.

She didn’t know what the blood she drank had done to her, but she knew: She was officially a Warden, now and forever.

 


	3. Last of the Wardens

Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.  
In their blood the Maker's will is written.  
 _-Benedictions 4:11_

 

Elissa was instructed to go with Duncan to meet with King Cailan and Loghain following her Joining but begged to be excused after the merest of appearances due to the pain she still felt from the ritual. Alistair had helped her back to Duncan’s tent, where the Warden Commander would give them their instructions for the coming battle once he was finished with the king.

“Two more deaths,” Alistair sighed as he settled her against a stump. “In my Joining, only one of us died, but it was... horrible. I’m glad you made it through.”

She was silent for a long while before she spoke. “How often is the Joining fatal?”

“I don’t really know,” he shrugged sadly. “Often enough that it’s known within the Wardens, rarely enough that we’re able to keep the secret of the Joining from the general public. This is only the first I’ve attended since my own, you know.”

“I... take it that’s why Duncan had to do what he did, then... To Ser Jory, I mean.”

Alistair nodded. “It’s not the sort of ultimatum that we tend to advertise, but there’s no alternative. If someone gets as far as the Joining and then backs out, there’s no other way to stop them talking about it later. I’m just glad it’s not a position I’ve been put in yet.”

“Before I forget, there is one last part to your Joining.” He opened his hand and offered it to her, a silverite chain dangling across the back of his hand. “We take some of that blood and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us... of those who didn’t make it this far.”

She took the chain and tried to work the clasp, but it wasn’t a style she was familiar with. Alistair noticed, so she handed it back to him and moved her hair aside so he could help. Once it was in place, she frowned and tried to remember what happened after she’d swallowed the darkspawn blood. It was as if she’d drank fire and ice together in liquid form, and she had felt the taint the blood contained seeping through her body, threatening to overpower her.

“Alistair, I... think I saw things, after drinking the blood. A dragon, screaming first in one direction then another, almost as if it was bellowing instructions to a swarmed mass of bodies clamoring to be near it. It... seemed so real.”

“Well it is real, sort of.” He sat beside her while he collected his thoughts. “You see, part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. That’s what your dream was-”

“-Hearing them,” she finished for him. “That’s why we drink the blood and accept the taint, isn’t it? We become more like them, to fight them?”

“Well, sort of. The archdemon, it... ‘talks’ to the horde, and we feel it just as they do. That’s why we know this is really a Blight.”

“Then what do Wardens hear when there’s not an active Blight?”

Alistair gave her a small smile. “I’m not sure yet. Ask me again once this is all over?”

Once again Elissa couldn’t help herself in spite of the situation and smiled.

“Deal.”

Duncan rejoined them not long after. From the sound of it all, she was glad she had been excused from their council. Cailan was just as foolishly looking forward to the battle as he had been when he met them at the entrance to the ruin so many hours ago, and he insisted on joining all the Wardens in glorious battle on the front line.

All the Wardens but two, rather. She and Alistair were to climb the Tower of Ishal to signal Loghain’s flanking charge.

“...So he needs two Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch. Just in case, right?”

“We must do whatever it takes to destroy the darkspawn... exciting or no, Alistair,” Duncan chided him.

Alistair sighed dramatically as he conceded, “I get it. I get it.” He threw Elissa a grin before continuing. “Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold I’m drawing the line. Darkspawn or no.”

She returned his grin. “I think I’d like to see that.”

Alistair’s grin widened into a smile. “For you, maybe. But it has to be a _pretty_ dress.”

“That can be arranged, ser,” she teased. “You forget you’re speaking to a teyrn’s daughter. Just because I kill darkspawn better than you doesn’t mean I can’t pick a pretty dress.”

Duncan sighed very much like Elissa herself had when scolding Alistair and Daveth in the Wilds and she straightened so he could continue.

“The tower is on the other side of the gorge from the king’s camp, the way we came when we arrived. You’ll need to cross the gorge and head through the gate and up to the tower entrance. From the top, you’ll overlook the entire valley.”

“That sounds easy enough. When do we light the beacon?”

“Leave that to me,” Alistair told her, holding one hand up a bit. “I may not like being the one assigned to this little plan, but I know what I’m looking for. We’ll get it done, Duncan.”

Steeling herself she asked one last question: “What if the archdemon appears?”

“We soil ourselves, that’s what.”

“If it does, leave it to us. I want _no_ heroics from _either_ of you.”

Elissa nodded obediently, earning a tsk from Alistair.

“Wrong thing to tell the lady of Highever, Duncan. You should have seen her in the Wilds today; I told her not to engage an alpha hurlock under any circumstances and she did the exact opposite.”

“Ah, but from what I understand, we are indebted to her for bringing you back from that mission. And that you are indebted to her for a week at least.”

“Maker! Has everyone heard about that? I don’t know how Daveth had the time to tell anyone, much less the king’s entire camp!”

“Don’t worry,” she laughed. “You’re doing a fine job; maybe I’ll let you off early if you keep it up.” She returned to the business at hand.

“How much time do we have?”

“Not long at all. Once I leave, you’ll have less than an hour.”

_No time to check for Fergus one last time, then._

“I know what we have to do.”

Duncan nodded then and made to leave.

“Duncan... may the Maker watch over you,” Alistair called as their commander left. Duncan turned.

“May the Maker watch over us all.”

 

* * *

 

Alistair stopped her as they began toward the gorge. “I- I guess I should give these back to you,” he told her, as he unhooked the straps to her equipment he was still carrying from before.

Shaking her head, she held up one hand to stop him.

“Hold on to them at least for now. I can’t get them to Fergus tonight, and they should be used. I’m better with a dagger than a shield anyway.”

“Well, at least use your father’s sword. I’ve seen you in action already, so I know you can handle that.”

“Of course,” she agreed as she switched equipment with him as they walked. She didn’t feel right using her father’s sword—no, Fergus’s sword—but it was stronger than her own and it was only for tonight. She’d find him after the battle, deliver it and the shield, and then she would join Alistair and the other Wardens facing the Blight.

They both fell silent until Elissa saw the gorge. What had been empty that morning swarmed with bodies. She knew it was the light of hundreds of torches and bonfires playing a trick on her eyes, but it seemed the bodies danced in rhythm with a song none other could hear. Even more, Elissa imagined that could hear the twisted melody in the deepest parts of her mind.

“Almost overwhelming, isn’t it?” she heard just behind her and she couldn’t answer.

“Just don’t look down, and it should be easier to block out the noise in your head. See there?” he gestured, “There’s the Tower. Just keep your eye on that. And remember, I’m right behind you.”

He set his hand on her shoulder then to reassure her and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Then there was a crash of flame and stone, and a portion of the bridge fell away beneath it.

Realizing how quickly they nearly lost the bridge itself, they both set off at dead run for the other side. Elissa had little trouble dodging the blasts striking the ancient structure, but she heard a smash of armor on stone and looked back to see Alistair dazed from the shock of a blast. She tried shaking him, she tried slapping him, she tried dragging him armor and all, but his eyes remained unfocused.

Desperate, she tried one last, impossible thought: she kissed him. The instant he reacted she broke the kiss, and while he still looked dazed he at least was aware.

“Wha- what was that for?”

“It got your attention, didn’t it? Now _move_!” she shouted over the din, dragging him to his feet and running the rest of the span, not once letting go of his armored hand. “I might be capable of holding a torch but I don’t know what the blasted signal I’m looking for is so I _need_ you with me!”

They didn’t stop again until they reached the gate leading to the tower and were met by a guard and a Circle mage. The two were shouting that monsters had overrun the tower, and Elissa realized that the song that was so strong in her mind while overlooking the gorge could be heard here as well, from the direction they were gesturing. She instructed them to stay with her and Alistair until they reached the tower then to keep guard outside as long as they could.

The mage did _something_ and her sword and dagger burst into flames, and she nearly dropped them both before realizing her hands weren’t burned by the fire. She expected a quip from Alistair, who seemed completely nonplussed by the use of magic, but he had focused himself completely and merely nodded that they were ready.

As they started for the tower they were set on almost immediately by genlocks, and the closer they came to its doors the thicker the darkspawn became—genlocks, hurlocks, and emissaries all. The last wave of them waited on the steps to the tower itself, and after a few moments that felt like an eternity all the darkspawn surrounding the tower lay dead, and Elissa and Alistair began their ascent.

The darkspawn were even thicker in the tower than they were outside of it, and Elissa wished desperately that there would be an opportunity to run back to the entrance and retrieve the soldier and the mage she’s left to cover their rear.

Alistair had taken point in the first room once they were inside, and had triggered a trap before she had time to stop him. While he insisted he wasn’t seriously hurt, just a bit singed, he moved slower and slower as they fought and by the third room had taken a nasty gash to the leg and collapsed. Elissa cleared their attackers as quickly as she could and ran to him.

Digging through her bag almost before coming to a stop, she tossed him the last of the healing draughts she acquired from the quartermaster that day and fell to the floor by his side, digging again through her bag for more supplies.

“It’s just a scratch, really,” he protested, the draught in his hand uncorked but still untouched. She pushed the vial back in his face, forcing him to drink and then found the poultices she had been looking for—only two left, and from the looks of things she’d need both to close the wound.

The draught had stopped the bleeding at least, and she set to work patching the wound.

“Maker’s blood,” she breathed in horror at how serious the wound had nearly been. “Another quarter inch and it would have cut your hamstring clean in two.” She turned him so she could look him full in the eye.

“Swear to me that you’ll let me check your injuries between fights next time, however minor you insist they are. That ‘just a bit singed’ earlier nearly got you killed and I can’t do this on my own.”

His eyes smiled a bit. “Oh, but didn’t you know? Bleeding out’s a relatively slow death. I’d have plenty of time to teach you the signal we’re looking for from the top floor before I died, and you’d be just fine.”

“Swear it to me, Alistair.”

“I... Of co...” he let out a heavy breath of air. She wasn’t going to let him argue this, and he knew it. “As you wish,” he grumbled under his breath, his eyes on the floor.

Satisfied, she helped him back to a section of wall between two of the bunks in the room to wait for the healing draught to continue its work. He protested a bit, that he wouldn’t be able to see what was going on if more darkspawn came and attacked, but she refused to listen.

“When you’re well enough to fight again, you’ll be strong enough to do so and can move from here without my help. Otherwise, it’s best that they don’t see you if they get in here.”

Cocking her head to one side, Elissa listened to see if she could locate the terrible song she’d heard outside. Satisfied with what she heard, she sheathed her weapons and made for the assorted supply crates and chests scattered about the room.

“What are you doing?” she heard from where she’d left Alistair a short way away.

She shrugged back at him as she began to work the lock on the first chest. “I used the last of my poultices on your leg. Since we have to wait a few moments for your strength to return, I may as well see if any supplies were left behind to replenish my pack.”

“And if the darkspawn burst in, slavering, while you’re raiding soldiers’ footlockers and I’m laying here like an invalid?”

Elissa listened again for a moment. “I’m fairly positive we’ve cleared everything on this floor. I can hear the song above me and below me, but nothing _around_ me.”

She couldn’t see him from where she was currently working on another lock, but she could almost hear his pout before he even spoke.

“What?” he demanded, slightly incredulous. “Not three hours since your Joining and you’ve already figured out how to listen for them? Maker, it took me at least three weeks to learn that trick!”

She made quick work of the last chest and smiled as she returned to him.

“What can I say? I’m a quick study.” She stowed the supplies and equipment she’d found in their packs and then checked his wound.

Gesturing at his bandage she asked, “This looks fairly secure; do you think you can stand?”

He nodded and she hovered close while he rose, ready to catch him should his leg give out again. Satisfied he was well enough to move and fight, she tossed him his gear, collected her own, and they began the climb to the top floor of the tower.

 

* * *

 

“So, remember that chat we had this afternoon—the one about you not engaging certain darkspawn and leaving them to me?”

Elissa smirked as she picked the lock to the final door in their way, in spite of the din reaching them from the battle outside.

“You mean the one right before I saved your life and you entered into a lifetime of servitude?”

“Erm, well, yes, that one. Anyway, don’t do anything stupid, but also forget everything I told you earlier.” Alistair paused for a few moments. “Actually, that back-climby thing you did might not be such a bad plan, assuming you can jump about six more feet.”

“Six more feet?! What in the name of the Black City is in-” the lock gave then and with a quick “now or never” Alistair pushed passed her and into the room to draw the attention of the beast within.

The ogre was crouched with its back to them as they entered. It turned when it heard them, bearing its teeth and dropping blood and limbs to the floor in the process. It was enormous, but Elissa noted one thing almost immediately: it wore next to no armor, its chest and head completely bare.

She wasn’t sure if Alistair had been joking or not about climbing its back the way she had the alpha in the Wilds, but it looked like the only way she’d be able to reach any sensitive areas at all. The tendons at its heels were shielded, so that wouldn’t be an option, but its hamstrings were bare. Elissa was sure the blue skin was thicker than that of the hurlocks and genlocks she’d faced earlier, but her blades still held a breath of the enchantment from before they entered the tower. Their only hope was to disable it quickly and dispatch it immediately after.

The ogre’s attention was focused entirely on Alistair and Elissa took advantage of its distraction to circle behind it. Moving as quickly and quietly as she could she ran for it and sliced at the back of its leg just above the knee, trying to replicate the wound Alistair had sustained on the first floor. Her blade only barely pierced its skin, not even drawing blood. She tried again and earned a similar result—as well as the ogre’s attention.

She tried to dodge as it struck out at her, but the back of its massive fist still connected with her right shoulder and she felt the bone break under the impact as the Cousland blade fell to the floor. Crying out, she tried to retrieve the blade with her other hand but the ogre swiped for her again and she had to run for cover to avoid being hit again.

Alistair must have heard her shout, because he was there then, keeping the Cousland shield between her and the creature.

“Ali...” she tried to speak but could barely catch her breath—she guessed that she must have broken a few ribs along with her shoulder. She tried again. “Alistair... just get its attention again, and let me get behind it. I think I know why I couldn’t take its leg out at first and should be able to do so now.”

Grunting, he almost stumbled back on to her as he blocked another blow from the beast.

“Alistair, we can’t last much longer. Please... just let me get behind it and I can get it on the ground at least. If you can handle it from there...”

He nodded—probably reluctantly, she realized after the fact—and began to lead the ogre around the room away from her. Wincing as she limped to retrieve her sword, she tried to push away the pain and remember the plan.

Her sword had barely done any damage before, so she reversed the sword in her grip for this last attempt. Dashing toward the ogre she shoved the blade as deep as she could into its thigh rather than slashing at it, then finally drawing the blade across the flesh to sever the muscle and tendon, bringing the massive darkspawn to its knees.

Alistair took his opening as the ogre flailed, his sword jabbing up through its eye and into its brain. Finally it fell, and Alistair rushed to catch Elissa just as she fell.

Pulling her back to her feet beside him, he smiled. “So... does this exempt me from equipment duty?”

She tried to smile back at him, but the pain in her shoulder was too much. She tried not to cry out, and he loosened his grip on her and retrieved a potion from one of their packs.

“It won’t do anything for that shoulder, but it should help the pain,” he told her, pressing the vial to her lips. “I’ll find you a healer as soon as we’re out of here.”

For the second time that night, he helped her to what passed for a place to sit and recover. “Will you be okay while I go light the beacon? We’re sure to have missed the signal.”

She nodded weakly, trying to resist the sleepiness that came over her from the potion. How had Alistair managed to fight his way up to the tower after drinking one of these? Elissa wondered idly if such stamina was merely a result of his training with heavier arms than she was used to, or if it was another side effect of the Wardens’ Joining that she would encounter herself in the future.

Now, though, she merely wanted to sleep. Through the haze that clouded her mind she heard Alistair swear, and felt rather than heard the crash as the door to their floor fell open, and then everything was black again.

 

* * *

 

Elissa first became aware of an earthy scent in the air, followed shortly by the feel of an unfamiliar mattress beneath her and a rough blanket pulled high over mostly-bare skin. Sensing movement to her side she opened her eyes to find herself inside a small hut, a vaguely-familiar woman quietly placing tomes on a shelf at the far wall. She turned when she heard Elissa stir and returned to check on her charge.

“I see your eyes finally open. Mother shall be pleased.”

The woman pulled back the blanket to check Elissa’s shoulder. “This has healed nicely,” she murmured absentmindedly.

“I remember you,” Elissa began, “It was... Morrigan?”

“And it seems your mind is relatively intact as well. Mother was worried that you may have hit your head during the battle.”

“The battle... Maker, what happened?” she looked desperately around the small hut. “Where’s Alistair?”

“The suspicious, dim-witted one with you earlier, yes? He is whole, and awaiting you outside. He is... not taking the news well.”

Elissa began to rise, and Morrigan retrieved her armor for her to dress.

“Morrigan, what news is Alistair not taking well?”

“The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field. The darkspawn won your battle and all he abandoned were massacred. Your... Alistair... he is not taking it well.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What about the other Wardens... What about Cailan?” She prayed to Andraste and the Maker that Morrigan’s telling would change. If it didn’t, it meant she was all alone—again, and this time with no way to honor her father’s dying command that she serve the Wardens and protect Ferelden.

Morrigan shook her head. “All the soldiers, and all their commanders. There are some few stragglers that escaped, but they are a very small exception. Everyone in that valley was killed last night.”

Elissa sat again a moment, trying to process everything she had learned, to remember what happened after the ogre in the tower fell, but the only vague recollection she could muster was the sensation of the wind in her hair and then waking here in the hut.

“Turn to that side a moment,” Morrigan suddenly commanded, and Elissa obeyed without thought. “Your hair was tied back when we met yesterday, no? It would be best if I secure it for you. You will most certainly face conflict when you leave us later, and mother will never let me forget if I allowed one of the last Wardens to die because her vision was obscured during battle.”

Morrigan worked quietly for a moment, fastening Elissa’s hair into a high chignon.

“How did Alistair and I escape? I fell unconscious shortly after the beacon was lit.”

“Mmm, yes, you were quite hurt when Mother found you. She retrieved you both, brought you back here, and began to work on that shoulder. Your fellow Warden—this Alistair—seemed unsure what to worry about more for quite a while; your safety, or the slaughter of your comrades. It was only once Mother assured him that you were safe and whole, and merely sleeping, that he settled on worrying over the battle itself.”

“Alistair is safe, though?”

“He is... as you are, for the moment.” Morrigan thought for a moment, as if wondering how to continue. “I suppose it would be unkind to say he is being childish.”

Knowing what she owed the wild woman and her mother, Elissa stifled an urge to snap at her.

“Thank you for helping us, Morrigan. Alistair may be handling things poorly, but they were his friends. They were probably all he had.”

“Yes, well, here is the rest of your gear. Mother wishes to see you when you are ready, so if you are feeling strong enough I suggest you do not make her wait.”

Elissa fastened her sword belt, took her weapons from Morrigan, and made for the door outside.

As she exited the small home she saw Alistair crouched by a meager fire, fidgeting and poking at it with a stick as Morrigan’s mother hovered nearby. He turned her way as she shut the door behind her, his face suddenly brightening.

“You… you’re alive!” he sputtered, rising and rushing to her. “I thought you were dead for sure.”

She hesitated a moment, trying to brush a bit of free hair from her eyes only to find that there was none to brush away, unsure suddenly what to make of his attention.

“It takes more than a few darkspawn to kill me, it seems,” she replied simply. Remembering then what Morrigan told her, she turned to the older woman nearby.

“I understand I am in your debt for the use of my arm, ma’am. I don’t know what I could offer you that you would want, but when I find my brother and restore his position in Highever-”

The crone scowled then, and Elissa felt very much like prey trapped in the woman’s amber glare. “There is nothing I want of Highever, _your Grace_ ,” she all but sneered at her.

“Yes, I saw the shield your friend carries, and the sword you wield, and I know who you are, Lady Cousland. You did not see the valley below as I winged the two of you away from the tower and to the relative safety of my home. Some few survivors escaped, yes, but the odds that your elder brother was among them are quite slim. You should be grateful at the moment that I have it under _very_ good authority that the original lords of Highever died out long, long ago.”

Elissa’s blood chilled in her veins. She had dismissed the thought when Daveth first made the accusations the day before, but for such a woman in such a location to know so much of Highever’s history… To know how her family came to be the stewards of Highever…

“Daveth was right,” she whispered. “He had no idea what you were, but at the same time he was right.” She began to back away slowly as if faced with a viper.

Alistair noticed her fear—Andraste’s ass, a deaf, blind mute would even be able to smell the horror that was dawning in her—and moved to place himself protectively between them.

“Lissa, what’s wrong?” he asked quietly. “Yes, she’s a creepy old apostate, but what has you so worried so suddenly?”

Her wet her lips nervously as she reached for him, pulling him back toward her. “Hush and come back here, and now. And mind your manners if you value your life.”

He obeyed hesitantly, without a word but with the question plain on his face.

“Alistair… Meet Flemeth.”

The Witch smiled coldly at them. “I see the Couslands educate their children well, your Grace.”

“I will not take that title until I know without any doubt that my brother is lost, ma’am. And even then, I can’t take it until I fulfill my duty to the Wardens.”

Flemeth laughed mirthlessly. “Ah, yes, and a Cousland always sees her duty done, how could I forget? And when your lord is ruthlessly murdered, your duty is to care for the land in his place, rising above even his station to become second only to the king! Such a fine devotion to duty to the land has served your family quite well, your Grace.”

“Lissa, you do realize this is crazy, right? She may be an apostate in the Wilds, but that doesn’t mean anything. Flemeth is a myth. Myth means not real.”

“No, Alistair, she’s no myth. The Couslands have always known the truth behind the stories; I can swear to you on anything you value that this woman is in fact _the_ Flemeth of legend.”

“She’s a good and smart girl, templar. Keep her close or you’ll surely perish before you can defeat this Blight.”

“You expect the two of us to defeat the Blight on our own?” Alistair scoffed. “I haven’t even been a Warden a year, there’s no way we can do that. No, we have to find the other Wardens first, and then they can decide how to proceed.”

“It is doubly good that your companion has the training to lead men then, isn’t it?” Flemeth smiled mysteriously. “Although the two of you will not be alone. Lady Cousland! Your line owes me a debt that very few men can even fathom; first raising your family to its current status and now rescuing the last of its line. It is time that debt is repaid. You will take with you what I hold most dear, use it as a tool to defeat this evil, and return it to me unharmed. Can you do this, child?”

“I clearly have no choice,” Elissa returned as evenly as possible. “What tool do you wish me to take with us?”

“You will be taking Morrigan, your Grace. Her magic will serve you well in your trials, but do not underestimate my wrath if she is harmed in any way under your care.”

Alistair shook his head stubbornly. “That still leaves us with two green Wardens and one apostate, even if she is the daughter of the Witch of the Wilds. That’s not enough to defeat a Blight.”

Flemeth sighed almost with pity. “Do you truly believe you have no other tools at your disposal, young man? If so you are thicker than I thought.”

“The treaties!” Elissa blurted suddenly. “Elves, dwarves, and mages… Alistair, each party is indebted to the Wardens in the event of a Blight, yes?”

He frowned thoughtfully. “Well, yes, I suppose. I think they’re technically supposed to be invoked by the Warden Commander of a nation, not by just anyone who has survived the Joining, but if the slaughter was as wide as we’ve heard, word will spread quickly that there are no other Wardens left in Ferelden. It might get our case heard, or it might get us thrown out until a stronger force arrives.”

She beamed at him then as an unreasonable hope began to fill her. “Any chance is better than none. If there’s any chance we can still stop this we have to take it.”

“So you are ready to be Wardens after all, then?” Flemeth asked. “Then I will retrieve Morrigan. You will be leaving immediately.”

 


	4. Sister Nightingale

The one who repents, who has faith,  
Unshaken by the darkness of the world,  
She shall know true peace.  
 _-Transfigurations 10:1_

 

When they departed Flemeth’s hut, Elissa was the most hopeful she’d been since her world crashed down around her. The rain descended on them shortly after they began their journey, however, slowing their progress and darkening their moods.

When Elissa had fled Highever with Duncan, they made the trip to Ostagar in a mere six days. They were now on their sixth morning of travel with Morrigan, veering around wide swaths of land to avoid both bogs and darkspawn parties, and had yet to reach their destination, the village of Lothering at the northern edge of the wilderness.

There had been a brief moment of joy on the third morning. Moments after fighting off a group of genlocks that couldn’t be avoided they found Moira waiting patiently for them, as if she’d known her mistress would be following that path at that moment. The sight of her hound comforted her at first, but after three more days of rain the smell of wet dog added to the smell of the Blight that was beginning to take the land, Elissa wasn’t certain she could take any more.

Alistair and Morrigan were growing increasingly hostile to one another with each mile they traveled and more than once Elissa had to actually come between them to prevent Morrigan from hurting Alistair.

She’d asked him one of the evenings as they tried and failed to start a fire about his background as a templar—something she hadn’t known of until Flemeth mentioned it in passing—but he would just shrug off the question and go back to attempting to start a fire for them to huddle around.

Most of their time both in camp and on the road was spent in silence, broken only when Morrigan felt it necessary to taunt Alistair for his grief, or when Moira would catch the scent of something she clearly found irresistible, in which case the hound would take off into the brush barking.

The forest gradually gave way to farmsteads as they travelled, and finally Lothering itself came into view in the distance. As they approached the village a small group of men in light armor moved toward them, claiming to collect tolls for repairs to the Imperial Highway.

Elissa’s mood was foul enough that she took Morrigan’s suggestion of teaching the supposed toll collectors a lesson a little more seriously than she may have otherwise, and once the scuffle was over many of the bandits lay dead. Relieving them of the tolls they collected and sending the survivors running, Elissa turned to lead her companions through the refugee camp that had sprung up outside the village.

“Well, there it is: Lothering. Pretty as a painting.”

Elissa stopped and turned to Alistair, slightly surprised as she hadn’t heard him speak in days. Before she could speak, however, Morrigan seized on her chance.

“Decided to rejoin us, have you? Falling on your blade and rejoining your lost comrades too much trouble, then?”

“Morrigan, please,” Elissa almost begged her. “You don’t have to like one another but please don’t start this now.” The witch rolled her eyes at Elissa, but fell silent.

“You’ve been very quiet, Alistair. Was there something on you mind?

“Well, I was just thinking. We have the treaties that should provide support, but perhaps we should find an ally in the Landsmeet as well. Redcliffe’s not far from here and Arl Eamon’s a good man. He also hadn’t made it to Ostagar in time for the battle, so he should still have all his men.”

She considered this a moment. “The arl was a good friend of my father’s… Not as close as Father was with that snake, Howe, but perhaps that’s for the better. Even more, Father was politically closer to Redcliffe than he was to Gwaren, so if I can make an official appeal to him he may join us against Loghain as well as the Blight.”

“So, we go there first, and then pursue the treaties?”

“Yes, I think so,” she agreed. “Let’s resupply here and see if we can get any news, and then we’ll head west.”

There was no argument so Elissa made her way through the camp at the village’s edge once more. She could hear Morrigan behind her testing Alistair again, asking why he deferred to the newer recruit when he held seniority, but he seemed to be handling himself so she didn’t interrupt.

As they entered through the gates, the village seemed to be in tatters, but safe for the moment from the darkspawn.

 “Well then, we should probably split up to finish things here as quickly as possible. If there’s anyone left in charge, they’ll likely be in the chantry. Alistair, can you go there and see if you can find any news? I’ll see to our supplies and Morrigan…”

“Mother may have ordered me to accompany you, Warden, but unlike others present I can make my own decisions. The two of you handle whatever business you must; I will meet you at the bridge on the other side of the village when you are ready to leave.”

As they watched Morrigan saunter away, Elissa turned her attention back to Alistair and reached for a pouch at her belt.

“Can you deliver this to the Revered Mother, or whoever is in charge, while you’re at the chantry?” she asked, offering him the pouch of silver retrieved from the bandits earlier. “We may need everything we can get, but these people need it more than we do.”

Alistair gave her a small smile. “And here I thought you meant to keep it, maybe use it to buy that pretty dress you threatened me with before the battle.”

“Oh, you haven’t earned exemption from that dress quite yet,” she laughed. “But right now you still owe a few more nights of caring for my equipment in camp.”

His eyes narrowed almost suspiciously. “I know I’m not the smartest, as Morrigan constantly feels the need to remind me, but is that supposed to have some sort of double meaning?”

Elissa felt her face flame and he chuckled. “You’re cute when you blush, you know.”

“I- I’ll be in the tavern to see what I can hear about… whatever…” she mumbled as she fled.

 

* * *

 

The noise of the tavern could be heard outside, but the moment she entered it fell immediately silent. A number of armored men approached her almost casually—almost—and Elissa noticed the wyvern of Gwaren on their armor immediately.

“Well, look what we have here, men. I think we’ve just been blessed.” He smiled coldly. “Didn’t we just spend all morning asking about a woman by this very description? And everyone said they hadn’t seen her. I think we may have been lied to after all.”

Elissa took a step back as she reached for her blade. “Whoever you think I am, I only just arrived here so I doubt these people lied to you,” she replied cautiously. “Why don’t we leave and discuss things like adults, and leave these people alone?”

“I think I’d rather like to discuss things here, king-killer,” he leered. “Teyrn Loghain was very specific in describing you, my lady; beautiful girl, carrying a sword with a laurel crest with a mabari at her heel. Can’t be too many of you running ’round here, now can there?”

“Gentlemen,” interrupted a chantry sister, “surely there is no need for trouble. This woman is no doubt-”

“Shut it, you Orlesian whore,” one of the men snapped, drawing his blade. “Or we’ll deal with you once we’re done with the lady here.”

The sister smiled serenely, folding her hands before her and closing her eyes as if in prayer. “In that case, it is my clear duty to assist this poor child of the Maker, to help her defend herself from those who would prey upon a mere woman”

“Smart-assed bitch,” the leader sneered. “Men! Kill them both. The teyrn never said we had to deliver either Warden alive; when we’re done here we’ll find the other and be on our way!”

As the blades came out, the Orlesian woman reached immediately for a flagon on the table beside them and threw its contents in the leader’s face, blinding him. A short dagger appeared in each of the woman’s hands.

“I had hoped we could meet under more pleasant circumstances, my Lady, but we will have time for introductions later. You can handle the half on your side, no? I will take care of the ones here.”

Moira jumped ahead of her mistress and forced one of the men to the ground, tearing at his throat. Elissa drew her sword, but before taking her dagger into her off-hand she reached out and grabbed a chair from the table and smashed it over the leader’s unguarded skull, knocking him to the ground. Taking her dagger she stabbed it down into his right shoulder, pinning him to the ground, and turned to the last of the three on her side of the tavern. The third man screamed as Moira bit into his leg from behind, but the sound ended in a gurgle as Elissa’s sword pierced his heart.

The sister finished the last of the men on her side, and she and Elissa returned to the group’s leader.

“Take a message to Loghain, scum,” Elissa whispered as she bent over his body and grasped the hilt of her dagger but not yet removing it from him.

“W-what do you want to tell him, my Lady?”

“Three things, and see to it you deliver the message word for word. First,” she took the hilt of her dagger and shoved it deeper into his flesh. “We Wardens know what really happened at Ostagar.”

“Second,” she twisted the dagger a bit, “Loghain and Howe will _both_ pay for what they’ve done.” She sneered and ripped the dagger from his body, and leaned close enough for her lips to brush his ear, “Third: He’ll have to do much better than you if he thinks to stop us from doing our duty.”

Calling after Moira, Elissa turned and stormed from the tavern. She’d heard all the news she needed. Returning to the bridge between the tavern and the chantry, she stopped to try and think, resting her weight on the stones of its railings. Sensing movement she glanced up and noticed the Orlesian sister approaching.

“I apologize for interfering, but I could not just sit by and not help,” she explained, sitting next to Elissa.

Elissa sighed. “So I see. Where does a sister of the faith learn to fight like that, anyhow?”

“Ah, many of us with the chantry did not begin our lives there; I am no exception. I am Leliana, and I am one of the lay sisters of the local chantry. Or I was, rather, until just this morning.”

“Was until this morning?”

The Orlesian woman smiled sadly. “Aye, I… had a vision, of sorts, and rather than bother anyone, I begged the Revered Mother to pardon me, that my beliefs not disturb the faithful.”

“That said, my Lady… I hope you do not mind me joining your journey. I have some few items I must collect from my quarters in the chantry, and I would like to say goodbye to a family that has been kind to me before we leave, but time is shorter than you imagine. We should find your companions and go immediately after.”

Elissa thought a moment before nodding. Leliana did not give any details of her so-called vision, and Elissa did not ask after them, but she couldn’t help but be reminded of her own dream the morning before meeting Duncan.

“I still need to resupply, but I don’t mind you saying goodbye while I do so, and we can meet Alistair at the chantry when you return to get your things from there.”

“No, we should stick together for now,” Leliana disagreed. “The man in the tavern said one thing that is true: the teyrn has declared the Wardens outlaws for murdering the king—an obvious lie in itself, but the desperate will believe anything if they think it will improve their lot in the face of the coming war. You will be safer if we remain together. Likewise, madam Hawke is a kind woman, and will likely be able to provide you with the supplies you need.”

 

* * *

 

“Leliana! I heard you were leaving, what’s happened?” The woman embraced Leliana warmly before ushering them into her small home. “Bethany came back from service this morning and said you weren’t there.”

Elissa’s new companion smiled a bit sadly. “We all have our callings, Leandra, and I have been informed that I am to assist mistress Elissa here with the trials placed before her.”

Blinking in surprise, Elissa realized she never gave Leliana her name earlier. She presumed the sister learned it from Loghain’s men while they were questioning the villagers prior to her arrival, but she felt it was not the time to question Leliana on the matter.

The woman Leliana called Leandra turned to Elissa. “You’ll take care of Leliana, won’t you, messere? She is nearly as dear to me as my own children, and it has been difficult enough on Bethany and I with my other children in the South with the king’s army, and the rumors we’ve heard have only made things worse.”

“I’ll do everything I can, madam, but from what I’ve witnessed Leliana is quite capable of defending herself,” Elissa replied carefully. She prayed the woman would not ask for news of Ostagar, as she had nothing that she could give the woman that would not make her worry worse.

“Leandra, I know these are trying times, but do you have any supplies that you can spare? My companion has two others with her, and I do not want to burden Miriam or the village by asking assistance from her or the Revered Mother.”

“Of course, dear,” Leandra smiled and turned to Elissa. “You seem closer to Bethany’s age than that of my eldest, but you’re closer to Ria’s build. I pray that she and Carver will return soon, but she anything she left behind should be items she can spare.”

“Bethany!” she called up the stairs and a dark haired girl perhaps two years younger than Elissa appeared a moment later. Seeing Leliana the girl flew down the steps and threw her arms around her neck.

“Sister Leliana! I was so afraid you’d left without saying goodbye!” The girl noticed Elissa and glanced uncertainly at her mother.

“Have you come from the South, serah? My sister and brother were with the king’s army—a woman your height with a smart mouth and a young man significantly taller than I, with a sword fatter than his ego?”

“Bethany!”

“Just because I love them, Mother, doesn’t mean I can’t describe them honestly. How else would a stranger recognize them?”

Elissa smiled sadly. “I’m sorry, miss, but I don’t have any news. My companions and I barely escaped the Wilds ourselves.”

Bethany sighed. “Well, no news is better than bad news, I suppose. Are you going with Sister Leliana?”

“Come on, then,” the girl gestured when Elissa nodded, leading the way to the second floor. “Ria left quite a few things when she and Carver left for Ostagar. Let’s rifle through her things and see what you can use.”

Elissa followed Bethany upstairs as Leliana followed Leandra to another room. Upstairs, the younger woman opened a door and proceeded to dig through a chest at the foot of one of two beds in the room.

“Sister hated sharing a room with me,” she laughed sadly as she pulled out a few changes of clothes. “She always complained that she’d never be able to sneak boys in at night with her little sister just one bunk over.”

“You speak of her as if she’s not coming back,” Elissa began cautiously.

“What else am I supposed to believe? I stay brave and hopeful for Mother’s sake, but we’ve heard the rumors the refugees bring with them. I’ve told Mother that we should leave, head to Gwaren or Highever or Amaranthine—some place we can take ship if the Blight does come north. Sister will find us if she and Carver are still alive even if we leave here, and I’d rather they find us alive and running than home and dead.”

Bethany pointed at Elissa’s pack. “Pass that here, and I’ll pack these up for you.”

Obeying silently, Elissa handed Bethany her knapsack.

“I wouldn’t recommend Highever; they’re having their own… problems… right now. As much as I don’t trust Teyrn Loghain after Ostagar, he’s probably in the capital by now so Gwaren will be safer, assuming you and your mother can make it through the forest.”

“I don’t want to scare you, but you and your mother need to get out of Ferelden, Bethany. The Blight _is_ coming this way.”

 


	5. Mercy

Struggle is an illusion.

The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless.

There is nothing to struggle against.

Victory is in the Qun.

 

Elissa rejoined Leliana and thanked the Hawkes for their assistance. Leandra had given them not only provisions for the road—food, water skins, and a few poultices—but also a number of blankets and a small tent so that even if they had to take turns, at least they wouldn’t each have to sleep in the cold all the time.

As Bethany was saying goodbye to Leliana, Leandra pulled Elissa to the side a moment. “I overheard what you said to Bethany about Highever, dear. I worry for my other children in the South, but what’s happened in the North?” Leandra looked pointedly at Elissa’s sword.

“I haven’t seen Bryce and Eleanor in nearly thirty years, back in Kirkwall before even your brother was born, but I know this crest. Please tell me your parents are safe.”

The dam broke, and Elissa collapsed in Leandra’s arms in tears. As she sobbed she confessed the entire tale. She was grateful to have someone, anyone who knew her family to cling to for even a moment, even if she had never met Leandra before today. Leandra held her and let her cry much as Elissa’s mother had done for her when she was a child, until Leliana led her away sniffling.

 

* * *

 

They met Alistair just outside the chantry, and Elissa waited with him in a small alcove while Leliana retrieved her things and said her farewells. Her eyes were still red from earlier, and he sat close, squeezing her hand gently but not saying a word for a long time.

After nearly an hour it became clear he couldn’t remain silent any longer. “So, did you hear that poor Chasind outside when we came in? I wish there were something we could do for him. I tried to calm him down when I first finished speaking with the Revered Mother, but I think me being there just made it worse.”

“How could you make anything worse?” she asked suddenly. “The man lost his family. Literally or not, we both know that pain. I’d think you should be one of the few people who could help him.” She swallowed nervously and met his eye. “I know you’ve helped me.”

“You never cease to surprise me, you know that?” he smiled, almost to himself. “Everything you’ve been through, and yet you still have so much hope, so much faith in people.”

He sighed. “Unfortunately, I do have some news; some good, but mostly bad. I ran into one of Eamon’s knights here in the chantry. There’s a reason Eamon and his men weren’t at Ostagar—he’s apparently fallen extremely ill. So ill, in fact, that the arlessa has sent all of Redcliffe’s knights in every direction seeking Andraste’s ashes of all things to cure him.”

Elissa blinked in shock. “I know Isolde is extremely religious, Alistair, but that seems a little extreme even for her. What in the world is the good news here?”

“Well, Teagan made it out of Ostagar at least. He’s overseeing Redcliffe while Eamon’s ill. He’s a good and capable man, so while he doesn’t have as strong a command over the Landsmeet as his brother does, he’ll likely support us.”

“You know an awful lot about the Guerrins for a former templar and current Grey Warden. How do you know their family?”

“Arl Eamon, well, he sort of raised me… sort of. And I wasn’t ever really a templar. I was nearly done with my training, yes, but I never took the vows. Duncan recruited me before I was made to.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Eamon ‘sort of’ raised you? How does someone sort of raise a child, Alistair?”

“Well, I’m a bastard,” he shrugged. “And before you say anything, I mean the fatherless kind. My mother was a serving girl in his castle when she got with child, but she died giving birth to me. Arl Eamon… took responsibility for me. It wasn’t a life of privilege, but I was happy.”

“And you’re certain you aren’t Eamon’s son?”

“Yes, fairly certain. He told me when I was very young who my father supposedly was, and he of all people would know if it were true or not.” He glanced up, and following his gaze Elissa saw Leliana approaching, wearing leather armor of her own and carrying a pack over one shoulder.

“D’you mind if we continue this later?” he asked. “It’s not that I don’t trust your new friend, but I don’t know that I want to bare my soul to her, either, you know? I kind of get the feeling that she’d look at me like a stray puppy or something.”

Elissa smiled. “That’s fine. But you owe me the rest of the story later, you know.”

“Of course.”

 

* * *

 

“Is it just me, or is it quieter than before?” Alistair asked as they exited the chantry. Elissa glanced around, and noticed that the Chasind man they were discussing before was no longer in the chantry courtyard.

Elissa shrugged. “Perhaps the templars finally ran the lunatic off?”

“We will need to make one last stop before we go,” Leliana interrupted. “There is a man held on the outskirts near the fields that we need to collect; the Revered Mother has agreed to release him to our custody.”

“Is that such a good idea?” Alistair asked. “What exactly is he being held for, anyway?”

Leliana hesitated. “He… murdered a family on one of the farms not far from here,” she admitted. “But he does not deny his crime, and he has expressed remorse for his actions. I would not see him left to be devoured by the darkspawn when he can serve the Maker by helping you.”

“He wh- and you think we should just bring him along?”

“I have faith that not only will he not harm us, but that he will prove useful.”

“Yeah, if you say so,” he muttered.

As they approached the cage Leliana indicated, she removed a key from one of the pouches at her belt and unlocked the chains holding the door shut.

“Shanedan, basra-tamassran. I admit I did not believe your priestess would part with the key,” the giant nodded at Leliana. “This is the warrior you wish me to serve?” he asked, indicating Alistair.

“They both are Grey Wardens, though it is the woman who speaks for their party by mutual agreement between them.”

“You’re qunari?” Elissa asked, surprised. She’d studied a little Qunlat a few summers before, but had never heard the language spoken fluently, much less by a native. “What are you doing in Ferelden?”

“I am a Sten of the Beresaad. It is a position similar to your army’s sergeants, if I understand correctly.” He paused, and when she nodded in understanding he continued, “My men and I were sent seeking an answer to a question of our Arishok, but our mission was compromised. As such I am now maraas asala and am forbidden from returning to my people. I will seek redemption in your journey, but regardless I am little better than Tal-Vashoth.”

Her face scrunched up in slight confusion. “Maraas asala?”

“It… would translate to _without a soul_ in your language. Certain failures, unless corrected, leave a qunari in a state of permanent exile from our homeland and our people.

Elissa frowned. “I know only a little of your language and less of your people, Sten, and I will not show disrespect by pretending otherwise. I ask only that you serve to the best of your ability as long as my duty requires it, and that you show patience as my companions and I try to understand your ways. In return, when my duties are done I will release you from obligation to me, and if possible I will help you seek out your soul that you may return to your people.”

“Asit tal-eb,” he replied simply, which Elissa could only assume meant that he agreed.

They found Morrigan a short while later at the far end of the village fighting a number of darkspawn that had blocked the highway leaving town. As she finished the last of them, Sten stiffened.

“You did not tell me there was bas-saarebas in your party, Warden,” he nearly growled.

Confused, Elissa looked first to Sten, then to Morrigan, and back again. “I’m sorry, but that’s not a term I know. I understand ‘bas’ as outsider, but saaribas?”

“Saarebas,” he corrected. “A literal translation might be ‘dangerous thing’. It is used to indicate mages and the danger they pose to those around them. Why is the bas-saarebas not leashed? Who serves as its arvaarad?”

“I am no ‘it’ to be leashed, you idiot, hornless giant!” Morrigan snapped as she approached. “Yes, I know your language, kossith. And I know what your people do to their mages. It is more shameful than even those who allow themselves to be chained within the Circle towers.”

Sten ignored Morrigan. “Warden, I cannot serve alongside an unleashed saarebas. Such a thing is a threat to you and your duty. It will poison your mind and those of your companions at every opportunity.”

“Do not fear, Sten,” Leliana spoke up then. “The bas-saarebas is indeed leashed, though by different methods than your people employ. Morrigan is bound by her mistress to serve Elissa, and Alistair served the templars before taking his vows to become a Warden. The mage’s temper may flare and her tongue sting, but between the two Wardens she is controlled.”

Sten grunted as if unbelieving, but did not pursue the matter further and continued toward the highway. As Elissa and the others followed behind, she noticed two men—dwarves?—collecting their belongings and scavenging the darkspawn corpses Morrigan left from her fight.

“What happened there?” she asked the witch, gesturing.

“The fools were set on by the darkspawn, and both were in my way. The dwarves at least had the good sense to take cover as I cleared the spawn from my path, and as neither of them seemed to be infected with the Blight I felt it best to ignore them.”

“And if they had been infected?”

“Then I would have put them out of their misery, is all,” Morrigan shrugged. “I do not believe in leaving animals to suffer needlessly, and once infected with the Blight a man is little more than an animal in pain, even if he does not realize the source of his troubles.”

Thinking back to the crazed Chasind outside the chantry, Elissa felt a slight chill. She decided this conversation was one best left to lie.

 


	6. Redcliffe

Draw your last breath, my friends,  
Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky.  
Rest at the Maker's right hand,  
And be Forgiven.  
 _-Trials 1:16_

 

            In spite of their party’s increased size, Elissa and her companions made much better time on the road to Redcliffe than they had travelling through the Wilds. They had to be careful with their supplies and often everyone fended for themselves come supper, but their increased number meant that each watch was shorter and that both Alistair and Elissa were able to get more rest than they had in weeks.

            For the most part Morrigan and Sten had each remained at opposite ends of their nightly camp, while Alistair refused the opportunity to use the tent Leandra had provided leaving it for Elissa and Leliana. Seeing no reason why either of them should have to sleep in the cold if Alistair was not going to use the tent himself, the ladies quickly agreed to share it, as there was just enough room for two once Elissa had finally convinced her hound to sleep outside.

            They were eight nights on the road to Redcliffe. During her watch each night she spent most of her time talking quietly with Alistair about everything and nothing all at once. He told her about his time since joining the Wardens; she returned with stories about Fergus and Highever. The last night before they reached Redcliffe, though, he was more serious than usual and it worried Elissa.

            “I’m sure Eamon will be fine, you know,” she began. “We’ll stop here, speak with Teagan, and then go find something to help if we can.”

            Alistair shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I- I haven’t entirely been honest with you.”

            “I’m not going to like this, am I?” she frowned.

            “I don’t know; I know I certainly haven’t enjoyed knowing it. Back in the Lothering chantry, when we were talking about the arl, and my father…” He stared at the fire in silence for a few moments.

            “What I wasn’t able to say that day is that according to Arl Eamon, my father was King Maric. Which I guess makes Cailan my half-brother…”

            “So… you’re not just a bastard, but a royal bastard?” she asked with a small smile that widened as he laughed.

            “I’ll have to remember to use that one sometime,” he grinned. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but I just didn’t want you to treat me differently because of an accident of birth. I feel foolish now.”

            Smiling, Elissa took his hand. “Being a teyrn’s daughter always came with… expectations, so I think I understand.”

            “Oh!” he let out a huge breath. “That’s good. It’s not like I got special treatment for it, anyhow. Well! At any rate, that’s it. That’s what I had to tell you. Bann Teagan’s sure to mention it, what with everything that’s happened, and I wanted you to hear it from me, first.”

            “So, nothing else that needs confessing before we go speak with Teagan in the morning?” she teased.

            “Besides an unholy love of fine cheeses and a minor obsession with my hair, that’s it. Just the prince thing.”

            Looking off into the distance and pursing her lips speculatively, Elissa pretended to consider what he’d shared.

            “So… first you’re the knight in shining armor and now you’re the secret prince, escorting the exiled noblewoman as she seeks the aid of hidden allies. This is turning into quite a thrilling adventure story indeed.”

            Laughing, Alistair shook his head. “I’m fairly certain that in those stories the noblewoman doesn’t threaten to kick her prince’s ass personally, and I _know_ you would if you felt the need.”

            The words came unbidden before she could stop them. “So you’re ‘my’ prince now, are you?” Her tone was teasing, but she couldn’t help but hold her breath as she awaited his reply.

            “I would be if you wished it.”

            They broke camp early the next morning, and Leliana was smirking as she and Elissa packed away their tent.

            “You were up late last night, no?”

            Flushing a bit, Elissa continued packing. “What of it? Alistair’s watch was after mine, and we had a lot to talk about.”

            “Oh, nothing. I think it is cute, is all. If I am to tell the tale of the Hero of Ferelden one day, small details such as this will add beautiful context to the story.”

            Elissa flushed again and looked at the red-haired woman questioningly. “I haven’t killed the Archdemon yet, you know.”

            “Ah, but I am certain that you will, and with your faithful prince at your side all the while.”

            “Just how much of our conversation were you awake for last night?”

            “Enough,” the Orlesian replied simply with that same knowing grin.

 

* * *

 

            Before they even entered Redcliffe they were met at the edge of town by a man named Tomas, who led them immediately to Bann Teagan in the chantry with only the briefest of explanations.

            Teagan gave Elissa and Alistair only the briefest of greetings before immediately jumping to the current issues facing Redcliffe. They had already known that the arl fallen so ill that not even the strongest spells could heal him. But now Teagan claimed that the dead had risen and were attacking the village each night, from the moment the sun set until it finally rose again the next morning.

Morrigan could be heard musing to herself a number of causes for such an occurrence, but Elissa was much more concerned about the what of what was happening than the why, and how it could be dealt with. The witch scoffed as Elissa pledged her support to the village’s defenses, and kept her surly attitude as Elissa checked in with various elements of the town’s leaders and militia to organize the night’s defense.

“You may not have compassion for these people, Morrigan, but Redcliffe has always been an ally of Highever and I will not compromise that,” Elissa finally told the witch.

“If you must, see this as a means to an end. Forget human compassion and forget personal politics. Teagan will defend his brother’s land but he will not command Eamon’s troops. Alistair and I, as Wardens, need the military support of Redcliffe—and Ferelden—at our backs when we finally face this Blight. And for that, we need Eamon.”

Morrigan considered her words. “I see… Very well; I do not agree with your choices personally but I concede that they are strategically sound. Do not expect me to begin rescuing kittens from trees, however.”

“Truthfully?” Elissa began as she continued up to the tavern to collect the bulk of the town’s militia and send them back to the staging area she’d set up in the chantry courtyard below. “I’d expect you to rescue the kittens before the men.”

Morrigan actually chuckled a bit as she followed Elissa up the hill. “With one exception, I admit a kitten _would_ make for a better companion than most men.”

 

* * *

 

Convinced that she’d accomplished all that there was to be done and with a few hours left until nightfall, Elissa excused herself from her companions and found herself wandering toward the village’s docks on the shore of Lake Calenhad.

At this time of year the docks should have been swollen with grains and other goods from the surrounding farmsteads, waiting to be shipped to the small town that served as the only port to the mage tower at Kinloch Hold. Instead there wasn’t a soul to be found as the surviving villagers hid in the chantry day and night from the walking dead.

“It’s odd seeing it so empty in the last week of Harvestmere,” she heard from behind her and she knew without turning it was Alistair.

“What was it like growing up here? I’ve only ever visited in the spring and summer before now. Is it always so cold this early?”

He shrugged as he sat beside her on the edge of one of the docks. “More or less. The snow won’t come for another week or two, but it’s always wise to have an extra pair of socks as soon as autumn hits.”

They both fell silent for a few moments before Alistair spoke again. “As fascinating as socks can be, I actually came to find you for a reason.” He reached into a pack not left behind in the chantry and offered its contents to her.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked hesitantly, holding a perfect red rose.

Elissa’s breath caught in her throat, but then she smirked at him teasingly. “Somehow I don’t think the darkspawn are going to be threatened by your new weapon of choice.”

He laughed and made a few slashing motions in the air with the flower before becoming serious again, though a small smile still played on his lips.

“I picked this in Lothering, you know. When Leliana saw it in my pack a few nights ago she started babbling about miracles and the will of the Maker, but all I know is that when I saw it I knew I couldn’t leave it to be tainted like everything we passed in the Wilds. I thought, ‘how could something so beautiful exist in a place so full of despair?’ It’s such a rare and wonderful thing in the midst of all this darkness.”

Smiling, Elissa lifted the rose and breathed its perfume.

“I thought I might give it to you, actually,” he admitted. “In many ways, I feel the same way when I look at you.”

“I feel the same,” she blushed. “Well, maybe not the beautiful flower part, but at least the rare and wonderful bit.”

She turned to him, but before she could say anything else his mouth was on hers. She hesitated only a moment before returning the kiss, her fingers threading through his hair as he pulled her close. Then suddenly, too quickly, it was over.

“That wasn’t too soon, was it?” he whispered softly, still not letting her go.

“I don’t know,” she purred in his ear. “I think I need more testing to be sure.”

He raised one eyebrow at her. “Really? I could get used to this,” he murmured as she cut him off with another kiss.

“I know this isn’t the most ideal time for any of this,” he confessed when she released him again, “but I couldn’t risk losing the chance to tell you.”

“No, it’s perfect. Just… Just swear to me you’ll be careful, especially tonight,” she begged. “The darkspawn are bad enough, but at least we know when they’re coming.”

“Worried about me?” he teased.

Elissa let her gaze drop. “I’m worried about all of us. We don’t know what we’ll be facing tonight. I’ve already lost my family, and I lost the Wardens before I even met them. If we’re going to try… this… I have to know I won’t lose you, too.”

Alistair pulled her close to him again and she laid her head on his shoulder. “You won’t have to worry about that, I swear.”

They sat in silence for a while, but shortly before sunset he spoke up again “You know, I find it kind of hard to believe that between pressure from his brother and his responsibilities in Rainesfere that Teagan’s gotten away with not marrying by now.”

Elissa couldn’t help but laugh, prompting an odd look from Alistair.

“What’s so funny?”

“I can tell you exactly why he’s not married, or at least one reason for it,” she giggled. “Mother tried to initiate an arrangement last spring between Highever and Rainesfere. I told her very specifically that while I was sure Teagan would make a fine husband, if she sent me away to live in the cold and the wet for the rest of my life I’d run away to Orlais, find a bard master, and dedicate my life to the game.”

Alistair started to splutter for a moment and Elissa laughed again before continuing. “She didn’t think I was serious at first, so she started to pen the letter to Teagan anyway, and I began to pack. She realized what I was doing at about the time I was looking at hiring guards to escort me to Jader, and the letter went quickly into the fire.”

There was a light laugh behind them then, and they both jumped a bit guiltily.

“Ah, I was curious about your use of the _miséricorde_ ,” Leliana smiled. “I forget how close Highever and Jader are by sea. You must have had an Orlesian sword master in Highever, no? I should think you would have taken well to the game, though it is not always so glamorous as the nobles should like to believe.”

“When is anything as glamorous as we believe?”

“Some things are,” Leliana replied, her eyes twinkling again at the two of them. “And those things? They are rare and wonderful indeed.”

Elissa laughed as Alistair coughed a bit self-consciously. Glancing back at the sun slipping behind the mountains to the west, she sighed and stood.

“I suppose it’s time, isn’t it?”

 

* * *

 

Even with all she’d done that afternoon, what was left of Redcliffe’s militia was pitiful at best. The town’s blacksmith patched what armor the men had as he’d promised, and the templars and the few of Arl Eamon’s knights that had returned set up a sort of barricade on the road from the castle with the oil barrels she’d found, ready to break them and set them aflame. She’d convinced every able-bodied man she found, and quite a few of the women, to take up arms.

Elissa wanted to believe that it would be enough, but a gnawing doubt had settled in her belly. She took a deep breath and turned to her companions to assign their stations in the coming fight.

To the top of the hill she sent Sten and Morrigan; the qunari was clearly not happy with the arrangement, but Elissa pointed out that they would be fighting alongside Redcliffe’s templars—the Chantry’s arvaarad—and that it would be the most effective way to use Morrigan’s power in the fight to come while still maintaining some form of figurative leash. After a moment’s consideration, she sent Moira along with them, instructing the hound to be certain that the witch was protected from injury and distraction.

Elissa herself was to remain in the main courtyard with Alistair and Leliana. She’d discovered on the road that the Orlesian woman was a fair shot with a bow—at least as good as Daveth had been that day in the Wilds—so now the redhead was perched on the roof of the tallest house between the docks and the chantry where she could see all approaches to the courtyard below.

Pacing through the courtyard, Elissa listened for the sound of a fight from the hill above, knowing that even at their best, Sten and Morrigan would not be able to prevent all the creatures from spilling passed them and into the village.

There was a flash of flame, and the ground shook with the force of the explosion as Morrigan’s spells ignited the barrels. Aside from that first impact, however, there was no sound from the hill but the occasional shout of a knight as he fell. Finally there was a whistle from Leliana, and Elissa could see the _things_ shambling down the hill toward them.

When discussing the situation with Teagan before, she had secretly believed the bann didn’t understand what he and the villagers were seeing; that they were all mistaking some other creature for the so-called risen dead. She saw now with horror that none of it was exaggerated. All of the bodies were in some state of decay, and many were missing huge chunks of flesh and even limbs yet they still continued forward, down the hill and through the streets to the courtyard where the militia waited below.

There was a series of thuds as Leliana let her first arrows fly, and three of the bodies collapsed as their legs were torn out from under them. Still more of the bodies pressed forward, not even aware of their fallen comrades, shuffling ever on. The militia engaged the corpses as they neared; slicing off arms and legs but the creatures never stopped moving unless their heads were actually separated from their bodies.

Just as it had been on the hill, the battle was silent but for the sounds of the villagers fighting and dying around her. After a long while—Elissa couldn’t be certain if it had been minutes or hours—she heard Moira howling somewhere in the distance and there was a shout from Leliana. She saw what had alerted both her hound and her friend: near the water was a great bear slashing at more of the creatures, with Sten cutting bodies down not far away.

She got Alistair’s attention and gestured in Sten’s direction, but he looked just as confused as she felt. As he turned back to Elissa his eyes focused behind her, and she ducked just as a rotting hand was reaching for her hair. She turned as she rose and swiped at the corpse; its skull melted under her blade but the body fell too soon for her to completely sever it from the creature’s shoulders. She bent over it to hack away at the last bits of flesh, and it finally stopped moving.

Hours passed, and eventually the corpses stopped coming as the eastern horizon first took on a rosy blush and then brightened into a golden dawn. Every inch of Elissa’s body ached, and as she took down a final corpse she glanced around her to see the other survivors doing the same. She breathed a heavy sigh of relief as she saw Alistair safe a short distance away, systematically checking each fallen body to ensure it wouldn’t rise again.

While it seemed everyone in her party survived with little to no injuries, the same couldn’t be said for the militia. Only a quarter of their number remained, and Elissa spied too many faces among the dead that wouldn’t have been there had she not begged their help. She sat heavily on the chantry’s steps, and scratched Moira’s ears absentmindedly when the hound came to check on her mistress.

She heard the chantry’s door unlocking behind her, and turning wearily she saw Teagan as he exited to assess the scene. He’d been furious when she and Alistair insisted he remain in the chantry the night before, but finally conceded when Elissa had not-so-gently pointed out that if Eamon couldn’t be cured for some reason that Teagan would need to step in as a temporary replacement for the arl until Eamon’s son was old enough to take the position himself.

“Maker’s breath,” he swore quietly, staring in shock at the courtyard.

“Somehow I doubt your Maker had a hand in this,” Morrigan replied calmly from not far away.

“I only- What I mean is, I just can’t believe the depth of it all. None of the other nights were even remotely this severe.”

“The dead are dead once again, man. I suggest you collect your wits and set a group to collect the bodies for burning before a plague is added to the ills falling on this land.”

Teagan nodded silently, and went to retrieve Tomas and a few others from inside. As they set to their work, Teagan called Alistair over.

“I know you all must be exhausted, but there’s no way we’ll survive another night of this even with your help. Do what you must in the meantime, but meet me in an hour at the windmill atop the hill. We have to get into the castle today and stop any more of these creatures from rising and attacking again, and we have to find out what’s happened to my brother.”


	7. A Child Possessed

The first of the Maker's children watched across the Veil  
And grew jealous of the life  
They could not feel, could not touch.  
In blackest envy were the demons born.  
 _-Erudition 2:1_

 

Elissa couldn’t remember ever being so tired. The only time that might have compared was when she drank the potion after fighting the ogre at the top of the Tower of Ishal, and even that wasn’t the same—at that time, the medicine lulled her into a bit of a drunken haze. But between the battle against the corpses overnight, and coming on her thirtieth straight hour awake since they broke camp the morning before, and she could barely stand.

It was much the same for the rest of her companions. Glancing around the common room of the small tavern halfway up Redcliffe’s hill she saw Leliana stretching wearily in one corner; Sten sat silently in another, his eyes shut—in sleep or meditation, Elissa couldn’t tell. Moira seemed to doze by the hearth. Next to her, Alistair was the only one showing any level of energy and that was spent entirely devoted to devouring bowl after bowl of cold stew set before them by the new mistress of the establishment, a young woman named Bella who’d been merely a barmaid the evening before.

Elissa was just as hungry as Alistair was, but was too tired to care anymore. She sat with her arms folded on the table before her, and rested her head in the crook of one elbow. Their hour was nearly up and they’d need to meet Teagan at the windmill soon, but Elissa was determined to rest even if only for five minutes.

“Miss, are you alright?”

Raising her head again she saw Bella hovering with a look of concern, and she tried to smile reassuringly.

“I’m fine, Bella. It’s just been a very long day and night.”

“I can draw a bath in the back, if you’ll be staying a bit and have the time. I’d imagine not being covered in dirt and gore would make anyone feel better.”

Elissa’s eyes glazed over a moment at the thought of a hot bath before sighing regretfully. “Thank you for the offer, but right now I doubt I’d be able to get out the tub afterward. It would make meeting Teagan in a bit very awkward if I had to be carried up the hill, bath and all.”

Bella chuckled, but dragged Elissa off her bench regardless. “You may not have time for a proper bath, but you’ll still feel better if you clean up some and have something to eat.” In the back room she filled a bucket with water and set it on a work table, and retrieved a bar of soap and a rough cloth.

“You wash your face and I’ll see if I can’t find something other than stew for you to eat,” she instructed, pressing the soap and the cloth into Elissa’s hands and turning to rummage through the larder. “You know, Lloyd used to have some of the oddest beans he claimed were from the jungles in Seheron; you chew a handful of those and you’d be awake for days. I’ll see if I can find any of them for you and your friends since you refuse to rest.”

As Elissa finished cleaning up, Bella brought her some bread and cheese. “’Twas all I could find that doesn’t need cooking first, and you lot seem like you’re in a bit of a hurry. Found some of those beans I mentioned, too.”

Accepting gratefully, Elissa tore off a bit of the bread and almost immediately regretted it: the taste of food seemed to only encourage her hunger. When was the last time she’d taken the time for a meal? She had eaten since breakfast in camp the morning before, hadn’t she?

“Thank you, Bella,” she replied, forcing herself to eat more slowly. “What are you going to do now, though? Are you going to keep this place open, or move on?”

“I hadn’t thought on it, really. I’ve got a few cousins on the northern coast, and another in Denerim. I’m sure I could find work with one of them if this whole tavern-keep bit goes under.”

“How much would you need to get to your cousin’s in Denerim, do you think? That’ll probably be the safest place from the Blight for the longest period, since it’s better guarded than any of the villages and townships of the Bannorn.”

Bella cocked her head to one side. “Are you saying…? No, miss, I couldn’t accept that. I’ve already got this place through a combination of your kindness and Lloyd’s bad luck.”

Studying the woman a moment, Elissa had a sudden idea and smiled.

“In that case, take this as payment,” she grinned, unhooking her purse from her belt and tossing it to Bella.

“Maker’s… what in the world d’you think to buy for this much silver?”

“I’ll be going to see Teagan first, to try and get into the castle. Once everything there is resolved, I’ll send Alistair back here for supplies before we leave—food, poultices, whatever you can spare. When he comes to get them, include an extra sack filled with as much of this cheese as you can fit into it.”

“A sack full of cheese, miss?”

“A sack full of cheese,” Elissa repeated, smiling mischievously.

She tossed Alistair the last of her own cheese as she returned to the common room and rounded up her companions. His eyes lit up when he realized what it was like a child who’d just been offered a sweet, and she chuckled to herself. As they exited, she found Morrigan perched at the edge of the overhang the tavern was built on.

“Well, it seems you’ve all decided to get back to business,” she snipped. “Let us get this over with.”

“Careful, Lissa,” Alistair cautioned. “Remember what I told you in the Wilds? Back there she was all ‘I like you’ before taking us to her mother. Any minute now comes ‘ZAP! Frog time!’”

Morrigan was already halfway to the hill leading to the windmill when she called back, “Trust me, Alistair, if I decide to turn anyone into a frog you’ll be the first to know!”

Elissa groaned and fished through a pocket for the beans Bella had given her, wondering if they’d help ease a headache as well as she was promised they’d help her fatigue.

 

* * *

They found Teagan at the top of the town’s main hill, just beyond the windmill. He seemed to be gazing across to the castle on the next hill over, but from what Elissa could tell there was nothing out of place about the fortress.

“Odd how quiet the castle looks from here,” he commented as they approached. “You would think that there was nobody inside at all.”

“Are we certain that there’s anyone alive up there still?” she asked quietly.

He didn’t answer. “I had a plan to take the castle, but those creatures struck before we were able to enact it. With you here now, this may be our one chance.”

“What’s your plan?”

Teagan turned away from the vista. “There is a passage in this mill that runs to the castle dungeons, my Lady. I mean to- Maker’s breath!”

They all turned to find a slim woman in a fine gown running down the castle path, a single guard at her side. “Teagan!” she cried in an Orlesian accent as she approached. “Thank the Maker you yet live.”

“Isolde, you’re alive! How did you-”

She shook her head curtly. “Teagan, there isn’t any time. I slipped away from the castle as soon as I could, but they will notice soon that I am gone. You must return to the castle with me at once!”

“We will need more of an explanation than that, Lady Isolde,” Elissa cut in.

“What?” The Orlesian woman glared at her. “Who is this woman, Teagan?”

“This is Bryce Cousland’s daughter, Isolde, the lady Elissa of Highever.”

Isolde glanced over Elissa, and her companions behind her. “Lady Elissa? Whatever are you doing in such an hideous condition? And is that Alistair? What are you doing here?”

“We’re saving the world, last I checked,” he returned dryly.

She made a little noise. “It does not matter. Teagan, you must return with me, and now. Connor is in danger and I cannot save him. With Eamon sick, you are the only one who may be able to help!”

Teagan shook his head a bit in frustration. “Isolde, calm down, tell me what’s happening.”

“I… do not know what is safe to tell. You must come with me!”

“Isolde,” Elissa began, “what is wrong with your son? Has he fallen ill as well?”

The arlessa shook her head. “No, I fear he is going mad. I wonder if it is perhaps something the mage we captured did to him.”

Teagan glanced back at the castle again and set his shoulders. “Very well, Isolde. But give me a moment with Alistair and Lady Elissa first.”

Isolde made that small, irritated little huff again, but conceded and stepped away for them to speak.

“Here is my signet ring,” he told them. “It will unlock the trapdoor hidden in the windmill. There is only one path through the dungeons and into the castle’s basement, so you cannot miss it. Once you reach the inner courtyard, open the main gate from within and the knights will join you.”

Elissa nodded in confirmation and Teagan returned to Isolde and they climbed the path to the castle. They entered the windmill’s storage room and uncovered the door. Unlocking it with the signet ring, they all peered inside.

“Well then…” she began a bit unsteadily. “I’ll go first, Alistair behind me and Morrigan after him. Leliana and Sten, bring up the rear?”

“Warden, I request to be stationed with this village’s karasten and arvaarad, to rejoin you at the castle’s gate. I do not believe my sword will be of any use in such a closely confined area as this passage.”

Elissa glanced at the space behind the door again and couldn’t help but agree. “Very well,” she nodded. “Alistair and I are going into the castle, but do you want Leliana or Morrigan to go with you?”

Moira barked then, and Elissa gave the mabari a curious look. Sten, however, only nodded at the hound.

“I agree. Warden, with your permission I will take your hound with me. It is a true warrior, and it is my honor to have it fight at my side.”

She shrugged. “If you both are certain, who am I to argue? I don’t know how long it will take us to reach the gate, so be on alert until we can get it open.”

The qunari nodded, and he and Moira left.

As Elissa and her remaining companions began down the passage, she noticed almost immediately that it was totally silent here—too silent, much like the battle the night before. The first few rooms they encountered were empty but before long they saw a handful of the undead beasts and heard cries from one of the cells lining the passage.

Elissa drew her sword to engage them, but a ball of flame from Morrigan suddenly engulfed the creatures. After a few moments they fell to the floor as ash.

“Maker, let me out of here!”

They approached the cell to find a man in tattered mage robes clinging to the bars. When he saw them, he reached out pleadingly toward them.

“Those beasts will kill me if you don’t let me free! I beg you, please!”

Alistair pulled her back away from the bars a bit. “Lissa, be careful. Look at the scars on his hands.”

She looked, but wasn’t sure what she was looking for. “What of them? Alistair, what’s wrong?”

The mage drew his hands back to hide them among his robes. Morrigan strode passed Elissa to the cell and pressed her face as close as she could to study the man.

“Well, well, this is a surprise. I have to give you credit, Alistair; we may not see eye to eye on _anything_ but you do have a good eye for this. Though I can hardly believe it by the mere look of him, this boy is indeed a blood mage.”

Elissa’s sword was in her hand again, half drawn, when the mage jumped again.

“Maker, no! I swear, I had nothing to do with any of the demons here! I was running from the templars when a man came and took custody of me in the name of the crown,” he babbled. “When the templars were gone he told me I could have my freedom—from the Circle and the templars—and all I had to do was get placed in Arl Eamon’s court!”

Elissa frowned. “Are you the mage that Lady Isolde mentioned, then?”

“I can’t imagine who else,” he replied as he slumped in defeat. “She hired me to tutor Connor; he was starting to show the signs. That’s how I made my way into the household.”

“And who hired you to come here in the first place? What were you supposed to do once here?”

He faltered. “I- I was to poison Arl Eamon. The man who hired me said he had evidence that the arl was plotting treason. He said that completing this task would prove me a patriot, earn me a royal pardon!”

“A royal pardon?” Alistair jumped in from behind her. “You thought that killing the king’s uncle would get you a royal pardon?”

The mage sighed dejectedly. “I can see now that it was a flawed plan, and that I was probably not meant to survive this. If I could make it right, I would, but I don’t even know what the poison was, much less an antidote.”

“And what of the demons, hmm?” Morrigan asked, peering intently at him again. “You confess to blood magic yet you claim you did not summon the demons. Who did then, the boy?”

“I don’t know; he may have. He was quite upset after his father fell ill. It’s possible that he tore open the Veil without knowing.”

“If the boy is an abomination, he must be eliminated,” the witch declared bluntly. “In the meantime, though, I would suggest you let this fool free if you have no use for him.”

“No, absolutely not!” Alistair argued. “He’s a blood mage and an attempted murderer at the least! Lissa!”

Elissa pinched the bridge of her nose hard, willing the headache to leave her so she could think. “I can’t let you go, mage,” she finally decided. “But it’s not my place to judge you, either. If Eamon recovers, he will decide your fate. If he doesn’t, then Teagan and Isolde will.”

“I understand,” the mage nodded in resignation.

 

* * *

 

Each room after contained at least a few of the animated corpses, but Elissa and Alistair cut through them almost before they had risen. Exiting the dungeons into the main floors of the castle, the dead were joined by malevolent beings of billowing black smoke. These new beasts vanished as Elissa struck at them, only to re-form not far away.

“What are these things?” she gasped at Leliana, who seemed likewise unable to land a blow.

The two women were gradually backed into a wall by the beasts, able to block attacks but not deliver any of their own. Elissa, overcome by a combination of fatigue and sudden chill, dropped her sword with a cold clatter of steel on the stone floor. Wearily switching her dagger to her main hand she tried to defend herself again against the shadows but was frozen in shock as a blizzard of wind and ice raged in the corridor around them.

As the storm subsided, Elissa found three frozen statues looming over herself and Leliana, three more that had once been fighting Alistair, and about a half dozen others swarmed around Morrigan.

“Andraste’s ass, Morrigan, what did you do?”

“A simple spell,” the witch shrugged. “Though focusing it only on these shades and not the entire hall was more difficult than I’d expected.”

Retrieving her sword, Elissa studied the nearest statue that had once been one of her attackers. “Is it permanent?”

Morrigan chuckled wearily. “Oh no, ‘tis only ice, and they will melt in good time. They should shatter quite prettily if you strike them in this state, however.”

Alistair tested this statement wearily, striking one of the creatures with his shield; it crumbled into hundreds of shards of ice on the floor. Satisfied with the result he continued to the others, stopping only once all of the icy statues were destroyed.

They continued on cautiously and from that point on Morrigan took the lead, her mind probing ahead of them for more demons as they went. Whenever they encountered them she called on her blizzards to freeze them in place so the others could dispatch the beasts quickly.

“That door should lead to the courtyard,” Alistair pointed after clearing a room. “We can open the gates from there and have some support from the arl’s knights.”

Elissa nodded and began to make for the door, but was stopped by Morrigan.

“Alistair and I will go first. There is a powerful demon guarding the gates and my spells will not be enough to disable it.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Alistair groaned. “You’re the mage, if you can’t stop it how do you expect a regular person to?”

Morrigan’s face crinkled in disgust. “Idiot. Were you, or were you not, trained as a templar before becoming a Grey Warden?”

“Well, yes… but these are demons, not mages.”

“And _who_ do you think the magisters of old learned the first spells from? Just because mages now have learned to access the Fade of their own accord, such was not always the case.”

Alistair thought for a few moments. “I suppose it would work, if the demon’s magic is the same as a mage’s. So you need me to what, run out there, get its attention? I don’t have any lyrium, though, so even though I know _how_ to block its spells I don’t know that I have the actual _ability_ to.”

“Then sing your cursed Chant of Light, pray loudly, I don’t care! Distract the demon; weaken it so that I can strike!”

“If you say so,” he shrugged.

Elissa pulled him to the side quickly before could start for the door. “You don’t have to be her bait, you know; we can all go out there and fight whatever it is.”

He waved off her concern with a smile. “Morrigan may be a bitch, but she’s right about this. I can stand up to magic better than you or Leliana will be able to, and with just a little luck I shouldn’t come out even singed.”

“You’re a stubborn bastard sometimes, you know that?” she frowned, to which he laughed in reply. Sighing, she lifted herself on her toes and gave him a light kiss on one cheek. He gave her a curious, questioning look.

“For luck,” she explained, smiling a bit as Morrigan made a gagging sound behind her.

 

* * *

 

The fight in the courtyard went much as planned. Alistair drew the attention of the demon, somehow absorbing its magic, and as it weakened Morrigan loosed a blast of flames on it from behind.

Leliana caught Elissa’s attention and gestured at the gates, and the two women made for the switches and levers that would open the portcullis and allow the knights into the courtyard. As they did there was a shout from Alistair; several of the corpses littering the yard were rising and advancing to protect their master. Leliana returned to the fray while Elissa ushered in the forces waiting on the other side of the gate.

“Moira!” she called, whistling for her hound. The mabari howled and darted to the fight on the command, Sten and the knights and templars of the village close behind.

With so many templars to nullify the effect of its magic, the demon was quickly cut down and its minions fell with it. Alistair and Leliana were worn but safe; Morrigan, though, was leaning heavily on her staff as if she could barely stand.

“What’s wrong, Morrigan?” she asked carefully, half reaching to support the woman before noticing the fire in the witch’s eyes.

“What’s wrong? Those blighted templars are what’s wrong! All the pride of your chantry’s training behind them yet they have the finesse of a damned avalanche!” Morrigan gasped for air between each word as if drowning. Deciding it was worth the risk of being turned into a toad, Elissa took Morrigan’s arm and draped it around her shoulders, helping the woman find a place to sit and rest.

“I don’t understand—yes, they’re knights of the chantry, but they’re just knights, aren’t they?”

Morrigan studied her a moment. “You truly do not know what separates a templar from a knight?” she asked finally. “No matter. I will explain it some other time, if you wish, or you can ask your _dear_ Alistair if you prefer. Now give me a bit of peace; I will be well enough shortly.”

She left Morrigan alone as requested and checked on her other companions. Alistair refused to eat any of the beans Elissa had received from Bella, but Leliana accepted a handful gladly. After trying one, though, she made a face.

“I must say, _café_ is much more enjoyable as a beverage than in this form,” she commented, but she finished the beans Elissa had given her regardless.

Looking back at her dwindling supply of beans, Elissa wondered how a drink might be made from them.

_Perhaps steeping them like a tea?_

She offered what was left to Sten and was slightly surprised when he accepted, chewing the beans silently as the others prepared to enter the castle.

“Thank you, Warden,” he replied simply after finishing them. “I had not thought to enjoy the _qahwa_ of Seheron’s jungles in a place such as this. Basra-tamassran is correct about the beverage. Should you acquire more of the beans, I will teach her the proper way to prepare it for you.”

Slightly perplexed, Elissa simply nodded in reply and they joined their companions and the gathered knights. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she reached for the door handle to test it and found it unlocked. Pushing it open cautiously she peered within and then signaled the others to follow.

They passed quickly through the few antechambers between the entrance and Redcliffe’s main hall with no resistance. As she turned the handle it suddenly was ripped from her hand as the door flew open into the hall.

Memories of the slaughter in Highever assaulted Elissa as she took in the scene before her. So much of it was like the night she escaped. Bodies were stacked haphazardly around the room, and the walls were painted with blood and scorch marks.

Just as much was different, however. Guards stood woodenly around the low platform at the far end of the hall, their eyes empty. Isolde sat near the fire pit, her face in her hands while Teagan danced like a fool, clapping and jumping and trying to do handstands.

In the center of it all was a boy of no more than ten. He was watching Teagan with disdain as they entered. He turned to study them and sneered.

“So these are our visitors, are they mother?”

Isolde raised her head from her hands and stared first at him, and then to Elissa, and nodded.

“Y- yes, Connor. They are the ones I told you of.”

“And this is the one who defeated my soldiers? The ones I sent to reclaim my village?”

Isolde nodded silently.

“And now it’s staring at me with its little eyes. I tire of having it look at me so. Uncle!”

Teagan scampered forward with a mad grin, ready to please.

“Dispose of it, and its minions. I want to paint this hall with their blood.”

As Teagan drew his dagger, the guards surrounding Connor likewise drew their swords.

“Don’t kill them if you can avoid it,” Elissa whispered to the others as they drew their weapons and steadied herself. “Just knock them all out and then we’ll figure a way to deal with Connor.”

Morrigan did not comment, though Elissa was sure she wished to. Teagan came at her then, swinging his dagger in wide, clumsy arcs. The others each split to their own targets as Elissa easily dodged Teagan’s slashes. Seeing an opening, she struck out at Teagan’s leg with the flat of her sword and was rewarded with a howl of pain as he dropped his knife and started jumping around on his other foot, hugging the knee of his injured leg to his chest.

“M- Mother?” a small voice broke through the noise of the fight and everyone in the hall—Elissa and her companions, the guards, Teagan, _everyone_ stopped to stare at Connor in shock. The boy stared at all of them with their weapons, stared at the blood on the walls and the bodies in the corners. His eyes grew wide, and then he ran from the hall in terror.

 

* * *

 

“It does not matter if the demon is dormant or not,” Morrigan was saying. “The boy is an abomination. Killing him is the swiftest way to deal with the problem.”

“It would be an act of mercy to release him,” Sten agreed.

Her companions had been debating amongst themselves and with Teagan and Isolde for the last two hours regarding what steps to take next. Morrigan and Sten thought they should kill Connor. Leliana could not bear the thought of murdering a child. Alistair was torn between the responsibilities of his templar training and the fact that Eamon was the closest thing to family he had. Isolde seemed certain that the demon possessing Connor was the only thing keeping Arl Eamon alive, and Teagan seemed to agree.

Elissa sat at the desk in Eamon’s study while everyone bickered. She didn’t know what to do, and was glad that so far no one had asked her opinion. She opened one of the drawers idly and poked through the quills and inkpots, not looking for anything in particular but just looking because it was there.

Closing the first drawer and opening the next she did the same, rifling through the bits of paper within until her fingers brushed against something metal. Drawing it out she found a small golden amulet without a chain. She closed the second drawer and played with the charm absent-mindedly while listening to the others, her thumb brushing the cracked symbol of Andraste on the amulet’s face, when she realized exactly what Morrigan had said.

“Wait,” she breathed. “Morrigan, you said it’s the ‘swiftest’ way to deal with the problem, not the only way. What’s the other way?”

Alistair and Leliana both shot a look first at Elissa and then back to the witch in surprise.

“Oh, very well,” the witch conceded. “There is a way to engage the demon within the Fade. If it is defeated there, the boy will be freed. But to do so would require a great many mages, and much more lyrium than the templars in this village have access to.”

“How many mages, Morrigan? And how much lyrium?”

“I don’t _know_. I may know of the ritual but I’ve never performed it before. You would have to ask the enchanters at your Circle, but the boy will not remain dormant forever.”

Elissa considered this a moment. The road to the Circle would take them at least two weeks to travel just to get there, twisting and turning around the edges of Lake Calenhad. If they could _cross_ the lake, however, they could be there and back in just days.

“Teagan, can you get us a decent sized boat, and someone to pilot her?”

He nodded. “Of course, my lady, but what-?”

She didn’t let him finish. “Morrigan, how long can you control the demon possessing Connor?”

“I- I can manage at least three days, I am certain. Perhaps a week if the templars here can focus their efforts on the child without affecting my own magic.”

“We’ll aim for three days, then. You’ll stay here to control Connor and protect everyone from the demon. _Only_ if there is no other option do you lay a hand on him, however. The rest of us will go to the Circle Tower and try to get the mages to help.”

Teagan frowned as he listened to her plan. “Are you certain this is wise, my lady?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “But it’s the only option that doesn’t include killing Connor outright, and Alistair and I have to speak to the First Enchanter regardless.”


	8. Kinloch Hold

Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.   
Foul and corrupt are they  
Who have taken His gift  
And turned it against His children.  
They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones.  
They shall find no rest in this world  
Or beyond.

_Transfigurations 1:2_

 

They took the time to wash and eat while Teagan arranged for a boat and crew to take them north to the Tower, and it was late afternoon before they left the castle. Elissa sent Alistair to Bella as promised to pick up their supplies while the rest of them continued to the docks, and when he rejoined them he wore a goofy smile, carrying the packs Bella prepared over one shoulder with a large chunk of cheese in the opposite hand.

“Lissa, look at all the stuff Bella found for us! Food, poultices, healing draughts, and a ton cheese! D’you know how much a sack of cheese this size costs?”

She smiled as she watched Alistair stow their equipment in the boat Teagan found for them—a knarr, he’d called it. Elissa had only sailed once before, on a trip to Cumberland with her mother and Fergus when she was fourteen, and this knarr was much different from the ship they’d taken then. For one thing, this boat lacked the deck, and thus the cabins below it, for passenger use; the interior of the boat was hollow and uncovered, and passengers, crew, and cargo all shared the same space. Secondly, the lack of cabins meant a lack of shelter, and Elissa was extremely tired of being stuck in the cold.

Alistair called to her then, offering a hand to help her board, so she accepted. Leliana had already settled herself between two unused benches, covering herself with her cloak and Elissa prepared to do the same until she heard her mabari growling from the docks.

Standing to see what had the hound troubled, she saw nothing out of place. “Moira! Here, girl!”

The dog wearily approached the boat, but as the wind gusted and the water lapped at the dock she jumped back again, barking and growling.

“Moira, I know for a fact that you aren’t afraid of the water. Now come!”

She instead continued to back wearily away from the water. When the hound noticed Teagan not far away, she padded over to him, leaning into him and whining softly until he reached down to scratch at her ears.

_Maker’s breath._

“Teagan!” she called over the wind. “Moira’s nervous about the boat, do you mind if she stays with you while we’re gone?”

Teagan glanced down at the hound, who stood there wagging her nub of a tail enthusiastically. He scratched at Moira’s ears again and waved in agreement to Elissa, and the dog jumped and barked happily a moment before running for the castle again.

Shaking her head, Elissa settled down into the nook she’d created for herself to keep the wind off her while she tried to sleep on the trip. As she drew her cloak around her for warmth one of the crew came by to ask if she was ready for them to shove off. She sat up to see if everyone was on board—she knew Alistair and Leliana were there already, him digging through their packs for food and her humming quietly—but Elissa hadn’t seen Sten. She noticed him finally at the bow, looking out over Lake Calenhad, and she nodded to the man that they could leave.

“Got room for one more?”

Glancing up she saw Alistair grinning down at her, his arms full of food—mostly chunks of cheese, but some bread and dried meats as well.

“Maker, Alistair! How can you be that hungry already?” she laughed as she made room for him at her side.

“With the legendary Grey Warden stamina comes the legendary Grey Warden appetite,” he shrugged, offering her some of the meat. “Look at Leliana; she’s held up this far only because of those beans you gave her earlier.”

Elissa glanced in her friend’s direction as she ate and noticed the woman was already beginning to doze. “Okay, then,” she conceded, “but what about me? There had to have been three or four different times that I’ve nearly collapsed in exhaustion since we got here.”

“Ah, but you never actually collapsed, did you? Every time you thought you were about to, something kept you from falling. I don’t understand how it works exactly, but something about the darkspawn taint keeps you going. You learn to take advantage of it, but the more you use that strength, the hungrier you end up afterward.” He paused for a few long moments before finally laughing. “You know, I bet you didn’t even notice that’s your third chunk of cheese, did you?”

Blinking, she stared first at the cheese in her hand before looking back to him in shock. “When did I- How much have I eaten?”

“Let’s see, there’s the jerky I gave you, one of those big rolls of bread, and now three handfuls of cheese. Not exactly a banquet, but the fact that you didn’t even notice proves that the stamina and appetite are starting to kick in.”

“Well, Warden stamina or not, I’m still tired,” she shrugged as she leaned against him. “Not that your armor makes for the best pillow, but it’ll do for now.”

He moved her briefly and folded his cloak, placing it on his shoulder. “Better?” he smiled at her.

“Mm-hmm,” she sighed, settling against him to sleep as their boat rowed north.

 

* * *

 

It was near morning when she awoke, the tower of Kinloch Hold looming just a few miles away. She inched away from Alistair, careful not to wake him as she reached for the sack of cheese he’d left not far away.

Retrieving a piece, she glanced around and realized Leliana was awake, gazing at the stars. She reached for the sack again and took it with her as she moved to where her friend sat.

“Want some?” she asked, offering Leliana the bag.

Leliana smiled. “Thank you, but no. I ate a bit just before you awoke.” She smirked a bit then. “But what is this? I hope I’m not to be evicted from our tent when we return to our nightly camp.”

Elissa blushed scarlet, grateful for the predawn dusk. “Maker, no!” she whispered furiously. “We’ve just... I’ve never...”

“I know, dear. There will be time enough for that later.”

Leliana nodded toward the tower. “We shall be arriving soon. Best to wake your prince so that we are all at our best in the tower. I fear this will not be so simple a task as we are hoping.”

 

* * *

 

Not so simple was an understatement. Templars were scrambling, barring the great door leading into the tower.

Elissa noticed one that seemed to be giving orders to all the others and approached a bit cautiously. “Are you Ser Greagoir? What is going on here?”

The templar sighed and nodded. “I am Knight-Commander Greagoir. We are dealing with a very delicate situation. You must leave, for your own safety.”

Elissa glanced briefly at Alistair. “I’m afraid we don’t have that luxury, ser. We’re here representing both the Grey Wardens and Redcliffe. I must speak with the First Enchanter.”

Greagoir shook his head wearily. “You’ll find no allies here. The templars can spare no men, and the mages are unable to fulfill the terms of the treaty I’m sure you’re ready to wave in my face.”

“They’re ‘unable’?”

The templar studied her sternly for a long moment. “I will speak plainly; the Tower is no longer under our control. Abominations stalk the halls. I have sent to Denerim for approval to invoke the Rite of Annulment, that the Circle can be rebuilt anew.”

Elissa frowned. “What’s the Rite of-”

“It’s murder, is what,” Alistair suddenly stated flatly. “They’ve run like cowards and locked everyone that was slower than them inside. Knight-Commander, how many mages are in there? When you locked the doors, how many had become abominations, and how many were terrified children?”

“Alistair?”

“There’s a reason I hated the thought of becoming a templar and jumped at the chance to join the Grey Wardens, Elissa. The Chantry says their knights are there to defend, but they’re an army. They exist to exterminate not only any mages who step out of line, but anyone who’s ever come in contact with them as well.”

Elissa stood agape, staring first at Alistair and then the Knight-Commander. “Is this true, ser?” she finally asked quietly. When he didn’t reply, her hand went to her sword as she began toward the door.

“I want these doors open, ser,” she commanded coldly, pointing with her blade. “Lock them behind us again if you must. I’m going to _find_ the First Enchanter and get him and anyone else still alive back here. If a mage has legitimately turned, we will handle it appropriately, but I will _not_ allow you to slaughter them all like livestock.”

Greagoir scowled, but motioned for the templars nearest the door to let her pass. The knights removed the barricades, and Elissa and her companions entered the tower. Before the doors were barricaded behind them she turned to Greagoir one last time.

“ _If_ no mages truly survive, then the templars will take their place at the Wardens’ side against the Blight. If you don’t have any mages left to murder, then you’ll have plenty of time to kill darkspawn instead.”

 

* * *

 

As soon as the door was sealed, Elissa let herself fall heavily against the nearby wall.

“I don’t disagree, Lissa, but I can’t believe you just talked to the Knight-Commander of Ferelden like that!” Alistair blurted in shock, and if not for the situation she would have laughed.

“Well,” she started, standing with a deep breath, “now that the shock of threatening one of the most powerful men in Thedas is over, we need to move.”

They began through the dormitories of the first floor but found no one. The rooms were ransacked but there was no other sign of any mage, templar, or abomination—living or dead.

“Are you certain this is wise, Warden?” Sten asked as they searched the second dormitory. “The basra-arvaarad seemed certain of fate of their saarebas. It is foolish to devote such energy to this endeavor.”

Elissa thought carefully before replying. “The qunari fit their mages with collars and leashes, am I correct?”

“Indeed.”

Digging through some of the mess for anything that could be of use, she continued, “However, you do not automatically condemn them to death for showing magical talent, do you?”

He considered her words as she started for the other side of the room.

“You believe you can recollar them?”

“I don’t believe they have all have been uncollared, and I would preserve those who have become victims.”

“I agree,” Leliana spoke up. “It is true that mages can become dangerous, but we should not condemn those who are innocent. Everyone deserves a chance to earn their place at the Maker’s side.”

A blast from the next chamber shook them then, and Elissa stumbled backward a few feet from the shock. Wordlessly, they all ran for the door, and on flinging it open they found a few dozen children cowering nearby as the elder mages battled a demon that burned like a flame.

At their center stood an older woman who faced the demon directly, her staff leveled at its fiery chest. There was a sudden blast of light from her, and the fiend was reduced to ash.

Hearing them behind her the woman turned to them, her staff focused squarely on Elissa. “I know you, and Warden or no I will strike you if you take one step toward any mage here.”

Elissa held one hand up, instructing the others to put away their weapons, as she sheathed her own sword. “I’m here to help, ma’am, I swear it,” she began cautiously, her now-empty hand joining the first, which she still held open before her. “I need to find the First Enchanter and prove to the templars that the Circle isn’t lost, before they receive permission for the Rite of Annulment.”

“Greagoir certainly hasn’t wasted any time, I see,” the older woman frowned. “You truly wish to free the tower from attack, and not to cleanse it? Do you not fear the abominations that any one of us could become at any moment?”

Elissa sat her jaw stubbornly. “I would be foolish not to fear an abomination, but I do not see any here. If in the tower we encounter abominations I will do what I must to survive, but I am _not_ here to slaughter children.”

“I can ask for nothing more,” the elder woman finally replied. “I am Wynne, one of the Senior Enchanters. First Enchanter Irving was taken to the Harrowing chambers at the top of the tower by the blood mages who began this slaughter. Pray that we find him alive, for without him there will be no way to convince Greagoir that the Circle can be redeemed.”

Elissa nodded as Wynne stepped aside to speak to the other mages, giving instructions and reassurance to those remaining with the children. As they waited Leliana drew her to one side quietly.

“Do you mind if I stay behind here while you seek out the First Enchanter? I am sure the mages are capable, but I would not want to see any of these children hurt if the worst should happen and the demons get passed you.”

“No, I don’t think that’s wise, Leliana,” Elissa said, shaking her head. “Remember what happened in Redcliffe? Neither of us could land a blow on the demons attacking us. The mages can handle their own; in fact, under the circumstances they’ll likely protect themselves before even considering your danger. I’ll feel better if you’re with us.”

“If you feel this is the wisest path,” Leliana conceded, “I will follow you.”

As they began their climb of the tower with Wynne,  they encountered many more demons than they did abominations—something Elissa was grateful for in spite of the fact it meant for more difficult fights. She and Leliana had a slightly easier time with the demons here than they did in Redcliffe’s castle, but it was still extremely slow going.

As they reached the second floor, Wynne gasped and ran to a man standing calmly at a doorway nearby.

“Owain! What are you doing here? It’s not safe; quickly, go to the apprentice’s quarters immediately!”

The mage turned to Wynne and gazed at her blindly for a while before responding. “I cannot leave the stockroom unattended, Enchanter Wynne,” he stated woodenly. “Why, earlier Enchanter Niall came to me for assistance. I must remain so that I may assist any other mages who might come for artifacts that they might defend themselves with.”

Owain glanced behind Wynne to the others and Elissa realized he had a tattoo of a flaming sun on his forehead.

“Why does he talk like that?” she whispered to Alistair while Wynne continued to speak with the mage. “And what’s the tattoo?”

“He’s one of the Tranquil,” Alistair whispered back. “It’s something the Chantry does to mages deemed too great a risk to put through the Harrowing. The Tranquil can’t use magic anymore, and all their emotions are erased. They’re kept within the Circle, however, because when they lose their emotions they become stable enough to handle lyrium safely. The tattoo is a brand that a Tranquil is given, to identify him.”

“Alistair, that’s barbaric!”

“I remember fearing the Rite of Tranquility,” Owain interrupted them, speaking to Elissa. “Once the procedure is complete, however, there is no fear or hate; only peace and duty.”

“Owain has told me that Niall came for the Litany of Adralla. Legend tells that it defends against domination by blood mages, but there was only one copy stored here. If anything has happened to Niall, the copy he took was likely destroyed.”

“I know the litany,” Leliana spoke up. “I do not know anything of blood mages, but I can certainly recite the litany if it will somehow help.”

Wynne tried again to convince Owain to retreat to the first floor, but when he continued to refuse she finally agreed to leave him so that they could continue up the tower. As they fought their way along, she detoured into one of the offices just before they advanced to the third floor.

“Give me a moment here,” she murmured, letting them into the room and closing the door behind them. “Check the cabinets for supplies; Irving will forgive us, I am certain. I will not be long.”

As Wynne selected a tome from one of the shelves and quickly began to read, the others checked the cabinets and footlockers for anything that could be of use. Elissa noticed a chest in one corner and went to check it, but found it locked. Before she even considered it, she was working the lock, which gave easily.

There wasn’t much of interest inside, just a few books and scrolls. She was about to shut it again when she noticed that one of the tomes looked significantly different from the others, and the binding was hot to the touch as she lifted it out to get a better look. Something about the book troubled her, but she couldn’t put it back, either. Stowing it in one of her packs, she rejoined the others as they left the office and continued up the tower.

The third floor was largely uneventful but for a few ensorcelled templars. Continuing on to the fourth floor, they entered what seemed to have once been a large audience chamber but now was a grotesque monument to death. As Elissa’s gaze settled on the monster near the central podium there was a horrible noise in the room. Clutching her ears as she collapsed, she didn’t notice that the others were likewise falling behind her. Before she could even question what was happening to her, everything went black.


	9. Lost in Dreams

With passion'd breath does the darkness creep.  
It is the whisper in the night, the lie upon your sleep.  
 _-Transfigurations 1:6_

 

Elissa’s eyes opened into blackness. Struggling to stand, she stumbled in the darkness with her hands thrust before her. She sought anything that she could use as an indicator or guide, to tell her where she was and what had happened.

Memories of the Circle Tower returned to her: the templars barricading the doors, Wynne, the demons and abominations, and the horrific hall on the fourth floor. As if the scene were summoned by the memory the landscape around her suddenly brightened and transformed.

Initially it took the form of the mages’ hall, but before the shimmering of the landscape ceased it shifted again and again. At one point it resembled the ruins at Ostagar, filled with soldiers feasting and rejoicing a great victory. Before that scene cemented it shifted to Denerim in the springtime, after the snows had melted but before the summer heat became uncomfortable. This landscape lasted a moment longer than the last had, but then it too took on an almost iridescent sheen.

Finally, she was in her bed, in her rooms back in Highever. It was just after dawn; glancing out the window to her right she could see snow falling softly, and she could smell the warmth of the hearth.

Smiling slightly, she nestled back down under her comforters. It had all been a dream; Howe’s betrayal, the Blight, the incessant cold of the south in late autumn. Granted, it was clearly cold outside her window, but here in her bed she was warm. More importantly, she and her family were safe.

A weight that she’d previously assumed was Moira shifted on the other side of her bed. But instead of her hound jumping down to be let out, a strong arm draped itself across her then pulled her close.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Alistair murmured sleepily into her ear. He brushed away her dark hair and kissed her neck gently.

A part of Elissa’s brain tried to scream warnings at her, but aside from a vague sense that something was out of place she couldn’t understand what it was trying to alert her to. Brushing the feeling of unease aside she allowed him to nuzzle at her neck a few moments longer before finally batting him away playfully and rising for the day.

She was in the formal dining hall then, dressed in a simple gown. Alistair stood holding a chair for her to sit for breakfast and she stared in shock at both him and the chair, then to the table where Nan was setting out their meal.

“When did we-? When did I-?”

They were in the practice yard now. She was dressed in a blouse and trousers with her sword at her side. Alistair was sparring with Fergus, and the agreement was that she would face the winner of their duel.

A breeze picked up then, and it smelled of late summer. Something was wrong. Hadn’t it been snowing this morning? When had Alistair come to Highever? How had they met, if the nightmare of the Blight had been just a dream?

She realized, too late, that the sounds of Alistair and Fergus’s practice had long since come to a halt.

“It seems she’s awake after all,” Fergus commented then, and looking back at them she saw her older brother’s sword just inches from her throat.

Alistair sighed dramatically. “D’you know how long it took to create this perfect dream for you, love? You could have lived your life here in bliss, none the wiser. Instead you had to ruin it all.”

“What is this place?” she demanded, backing away from Fergus’s sword and drawing her own. “And what are the two of you? You’re clearly neither Alistair nor my brother.”

They laughed in unison. “We are Sloth, your Grace,” they smiled, bowing with a flourish. “You were in the Tower to disrupt the work being done. We removed you, made you to sleep. But now you are awake, and we must dispose of you before Uldred is disturbed. We find fighting is such a bother, but you have given us no choice.”

Fergus came at her first, pressing her back with a relentless series of blows that she barely managed to block. Elissa stumbled over a tree root, falling backwards. She reached out for anything to catch herself on and grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him with her. They fell in a heap but she righted herself quicker than he could.

Thrusting her sword into his heart, Fergus’s face blurred, and suddenly it wasn’t her brother that lay dying beneath her, but her nephew Oren. His eyes welled up with tears.

“Why would you hurt me, Auntie?” As he spoke, blood spilled from his lips and his eyes went blank. Elissa collapsed in shock, staring at the blood on her hands.

Alistair made a tsk-ing noise behind her. “Look at the mess you’ve made of things, your Grace. We give you the family you lost, and you plunge your blade through their chests in return. Is that anyway to show your gratitude?”

_It wasn’t Fergus, it wasn’t Oren, and this isn’t Alistair._

“How dare you place their blood on my hands?” she demanded then, standing and facing the demon wearing her prince’s face. “They were murdered by a snake, and when I find my way out of this hell I’ll do the same to you!”

“Oh-ho! So the Lady Cousland does still have some fire in her!”

She charged him then, tackling him bare handed, beating him as they fell. She needed her sword, to feel this demon’s blood on her face, but it was too far to reach. Summoned by the need, there was a weight at her back and she realized she wore the Cousland arms. Taking her father’s sword in hand she hacked at the monster, and with each strike it gradually shifted, discarding Alistair’s face and reverting to that of the abomination she’d seen in the Tower’s great hall.

Finally too weak to defend itself, the creature stumbled away from her in fear, falling over its feet. She continued to advance on it. Its arm reached for her from where it fell as if begging for mercy. Her family’s sword piercing its skull was the only answer to its pleas.

Everything around her shifted again and Elissa was returned to the grotesque hall in Kinloch Hold where the nightmare had begun. There was no sign of Fergus or Oren, and the abomination lay dead before her, the Cousland blade still in its skull. She retrieved the sword, wiping the gore from it, and turned to examine the room. Seeing her companions motionless near the main entry to the hall she ran to them in fear and checked each in turn; all were alive and beginning to awaken, but Alistair was nowhere to be found.

_Maker, no…_

She finally found him a short distance from the others and she collapsed at his side, pulling him to her lap. He still had a pulse, but his breathing was ragged. Nothing she did to wake him succeeded, and she finally slumped over him in tears.

“Please wake up,” she whispered, over and over again as she hugged him to her chest. “It wasn’t you, I know it wasn’t. Maker, why won’t you wake up?”

Alistair coughed then, and she lifted her head in shock. He still looked very weak, but his eyes were open and he lifted one hand to her face.

“Hello, beautiful,” he smiled.

 

* * *

 

They retreated for a short while to one of the rooms of the templar barracks that had been cleared before their encounter with the abomination. Wynne examined each of them and after a few spells to restore them declared that once Alistair’s strength was returned it would be safe to continue on to the Harrowing chamber on the next floor.

For the most part they sat in silence as they waited. Elissa hovered nervously at Alistair’s side, offering him food periodically which he gladly accepted. None of the others asked Elissa about her encounter with the abomination, and if any of them experienced dreams similar to her own they did not volunteer that information. The only noise that periodically broke the silence was Leliana humming what might have been a hymn softly to herself.

After about a half an hour Alistair became fidgety and anxious to move, so shortly afterward they collected their gear to continue on. As they passed through the audience chamber again Wynne paused a moment to kneel over the dead abomination. With a sigh of regret, she folded its arms as best she could and returned to them.

“It was Niall,” she said sadly as her head bowed in grief. “He was hardly recognizable, but the remains of the text of the litany he received from Owain were not far from where he fell.”

“But the words themselves are enough, no?” Leliana asked quietly. “As I said, I do not know of blood mages, but I know each verse. If the power is in the words and not in the one who recites them, I can do that. And if it must be a mage who speaks them I can write them out instead.”

“I’ve never seen it used myself,” Wynne admitted, “But from all I have ever heard of it, the power lies in the faith of the one reading it and not in any magical ability that person wields. If you are comfortable being the one to do so, I will leave it to you that we not lose more time while you transcribe it for me. We have taken long enough, and I fear for Irving and the other mages above.”

Continuing through what remained of the templar barracks they encountered little more resistance. As Elissa entered the room that Wynne indicated contained the stairs to the next level she found a young man in templar armor babbling a mix of prayer and nonsense, locked away behind a shimmering magical barrier.

“Cullen?” Wynne whispered, approaching him.

He blinked in surprise and stared at the mage a moment, then shook his head stubbornly. “This trick again? I know what you are, now! It won’t work; I won’t fall for it again!”

Sheathing her weapons, Elissa approached him slowly, her empty hands clearly visible. “We’re no trick, ser,” she said quietly. “Are you all right?”

“No!” he suddenly shouted, dropping to his knees with his face in his hands. “Enough visions! If anything in you is human, kill me now and stop this misery!”

Elissa glanced at each of her companions, unsure how she should respond to him, but none of them offered any advice.

“I’m not going to kill you, ser,” she refused, turning back to him. “Not if there’s any other way that I can help. But I’m afraid I need your help first. Do you know if any of the mages taken to the floor above are still alive?”

“I- I haven’t seen anyone come down since the First Enchanter was taken up. They’ve been up there so long, though, there’s no way they’ve resisted those damned blood mages this long!” He paused and paced for a few moments, and when he returned to the edge of the barrier his eyes burned.

“You have to go up there and eliminate all of them! All of them, even Irving and the other captives! They may tell you that they have not fallen, but that’s what they want you to believe! Not a single blood mage can be allowed to escape!”

“I will _not_ kill an innocent, ser, just like I’m not going to kill you,” she replied firmly. “We’ll go above, and face the blood mage that began this and any who willingly follow him. But I won’t cut down anyone else just because they were nearby when blood magic was used.”

Ignoring his protests, she turned and led the others away a bit while she thought. “Sten, since the qunari have mages, your race is just as susceptible to the effects of blood magic as we are, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “We are not immune to the effects of magic as the dwarves are, and as such we must always keep our saarebas collared to prevent their corruption.”

“Then there’s no tactical reason for you to take point rather than Alistair or I,” she murmured to herself, still thinking as she bit at one thumb. “All right then. Sten, I want you to protect Leliana and Wynne. If this litany works, then hopefully the mages there unwillingly will be able to help us against Uldred. Regardless, Alistair and I will handle the rest.”

 

* * *

 

They went unnoticed entering the Harrowing chamber, as Uldred and half a dozen abominations tortured the mages who had not yet turned. Elissa and Alistair circled around so they were in striking distance, and she nodded silently to Leliana to begin.

In other circumstances she would have stopped to marvel as the Orlesian woman’s voice swelled, filling the chamber with the sound of her song. Elissa had expected the litany to be spoken like a sermon, but instead Leliana poured her soul into singing its verses.

The effect of her song on the blood mages and abominations was immediate. Over half of them collapsed, writhing in pain as the melodies soared to the rafters above, and all but the weakest of the mages held captive broke free of the magical restraints which previously held them.

Before Elissa and Alistair could begin their own attack, the eldest of the mages struck out at Uldred with a blast of lightning that branched out as it struck its target before continuing on to the remaining abominations. The shockwave of the accompanying thunder knocked Elissa off her feet, and Alistair was there instantly, shielding her from any errant bolts.

As they retreated away from the battle the other freed mages joined the first, and within moments a furious tempest raged throughout the chamber. Elissa couldn’t see anything among the flashes of light, and in spite of the din she could only hear Leliana’s voice. Impossibly, the louder the thunder struck after each blast the stronger her voice became, rising ever above the clamoring shockwaves. Suddenly, the storm vanished, and as the last rumbles of thunder subsided only Leliana’s song could be heard.

Glancing at her friend, Elissa was shocked to find the woman’s face wet with tears as she finished the last verses, but her face was peaceful. As Leliana opened her eyes slowly Elissa saw a reverence and peace there she’d never seen before on anyone, and she couldn’t help but wonder if the archons saw the same as they looked on Andraste before they set the Prophetess aflame.

 

* * *

 

Elissa recruited Cullen’s reluctant assistance, and together they and her companions helped the surviving mages to the first floor. They arrived to find the barricades removed, and the templars stared at them in awe as they exited the Tower.

“It seems we owe you an apology, milady, and thanks,” Greagoir bowed reverently when they approached. “You have done what I thought to be impossible.”

Remembering his previous dedication to invoking the Rite of Annulment, to slaughtering all the mages previously trapped within the tower, she felt herself go cold.

“You should be thanking Leliana and the mages you abandoned, Ser Knight,” she replied evenly. “We all fought the demons and abominations leading up to the Harrowing chamber and Leliana found a way to disable Uldred and his followers, but the First Enchanter and his mages were the ones to defeat the maleficarum at the top of the tower.”

The Knight-Commander stood agape for a moment. “I- I understand,” he replied finally, letting the matter drop.

Leaving him where he stood, Elissa returned to where Irving sat not far away.

“I know this is not the best of times, First Enchanter, but there are two requests I must make of you and the Circle.”


	10. Quest for the Ashes

And there I saw the Black City,  
Its towers forever stain'd,  
Its gates forever shut.  
Heaven has been filled with silence,  
I knew then,  
And cross'd my heart with shame.  
 _-Andraste 1:11_

 

Considering the circumstances, it was more even difficult than Elissa expected to convince the First Enchanter to lend any more support against the Blight than the Circle had already given prior to the battle at Ostagar. Only with Wynne’s help did she finally convince Irving to pledge a small force, and even that was probably more than the Circle could really afford to part with so soon after the massacre Uldred’s blood mages had unleashed. They finally came to an agreement that the Circle mages could remain at the tower to rebuild until Elissa had called on the dwarves of Orzammar and the Dalish elves and garnered their support as well.

Irving was likewise reluctant to send anyone to Redcliffe to help Connor. He admitted that the senior enchanters were capable of performing the ritual Morrigan had mentioned, but insisted that all the enchanters with the ability to help would be needed in the tower itself. Again Wynne stepped in, volunteering to go herself with his permission. Something unspoken seemed to pass between them, and finally he consented that they would go to Redcliffe together so that the other senior enchanters could remain at the Circle.

Elissa wanted to ask Wynne about Irving’s sudden change of heart, but the mage excused herself to prepare for the trip before Elissa could bring it up. Instead she returned to her companions, who waited for her not far from where their boat was docked.

“Irving and Wynne will come back to Redcliffe with us to try and free Connor,” she informed them as she approached.

“Will they be enough?” Leliana asked quietly. “Morrigan said it would take many mages, did she not?”

Elissa shrugged a bit. “I don’t really know. The Circle doesn’t have many mages to spare, though, and Irving and Wynne seem to be the most powerful among them. If they can’t do it, I don’t know who else could.”

It was nearly sundown, and there wasn’t much to do but to reload their gear on the boat and wait for the mages. After handing her packs to one of the crew, Elissa stopped to look northeast, toward Highever. Shivering a bit, she pulled her cloak close as she gazed over the water, thinking of home.

“We’ll take it back once we’re done with the Blight, you know,” Alistair told her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders from behind.

She leaned her head back into his chest and closed her eyes. “I can’t believe it’s been almost a month,” she whispered as he held her. “I- I just wish we had been able to find Fergus. He- he doesn’t even know about Oriana and Oren.”

The memories of the nightmare in the tower—of her little nephew Oren asking why she’d hurt him—still haunted her, and she shook slightly as a few tears spilled over to her cheeks. Still holding her, Alistair brushed the tears away when they fell. Shortly after sunset they returned to the boat, joining the others to eat and rest.

Wynne and Irving didn’t join them until well after midnight, and Elissa was camped between two benches, dozing against Alistair when they arrived. He nudged her gently to let her know they were ready to leave, and she nodded sleepily in reply before leaning into him again and falling back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

While they’d made the trip from Redcliffe to Kinloch Hold in just one night, the return trip had them faced almost directly into the winter winds coming off the wilds and over Lake Calenhad. With the sails nearly useless and the entire crew at the oars, it took more than twice as long to make it back again.

Perhaps it was because she’d spent the past month constantly on the move, but sitting still for so long had Elissa on edge as they waited for Redcliffe to come into view. She fidgeted as they waited, unable to sit still for more than a few moments but without much room to move.

Leliana tried to distract her with a few of the many stories she seemed to have memorized, but not until the Orlesian woman asked if she’d heard the tale of the Witch of the Wilds was Elissa’s attention captured.

The version Leliana told was very much like the story Elissa knew from her childhood, except that in the version she had always heard there had been disputes regarding which man Flemeth was married to first, Bann Conobar or Osen the poet. Regardless of how it began, however, each version ended the same: with both men dead and Flemeth spawning generations of witches in the Kocari Wilds.

“Morrigan’s mother is named Flemeth, you know,” she mentioned as Leliana finished the story, to which her friend gently laughed.

“Ah, but is she _the_ Flemeth, of the legends?”

“Perhaps not,” Elissa lied, remembering the old woman’s piercing gaze. She realized suddenly that she wasn’t in the mood to talk any longer. She excused herself then and moved carefully to the prow.

“May I sit here?” she asked Sten, not wanting to intrude but feeling if she were here at the forward-most part of the boat she might somehow make the trip feel shorter. She took the bench opposite his when he nodded silently, and they both sat watching the sky before them.

“Warden,” he said after a long while, breaking Elissa out of a daydream involving a warm bath and a warm bed.

“Yes?”

“I owe you an apology, Warden, regarding the saarebas at the tower. I was certain you would fail, but you proved otherwise.”

“I didn’t do it alone,” Elissa frowned, remembering. “Leliana stopped the blood mages themselves long enough for those still loyal to the Circle to defeat them, and Wynne healed any wounds we received. You protected them, and Alistair protected me.”

“No,” he argued. “You were the one to defeat the demon that ensnared us all. No one protected you. No one healed your wounds. No one distracted the demon that it no longer held you in its grip. I will not ask you what the demon offered. That you resisted it says more about you than what it felt you could be bought for.”

Unsure how to reply, Elissa stared south until, not long before sunset, Redcliffe finally came into view.

 

* * *

 

Tomas met them when they finally docked and instructed them that Teagan wanted them to go straight to the castle when they arrived. They left most of their packs with him and his men to be brought along later and climbed the hill to the castle. Wynne handled the terrain easily, but sent Elissa and the others ahead while she helped Irving along.

They found Teagan in Arl Eamon’s study when they arrived and related all that had happened at the Circle Tower, including that the First Enchanter himself had come to try and free Connor of the demon’s influence.

“He came alone?” Teagan asked then, surprised.

Elissa faltered a moment. “The Circle has lost a great many of their number. The First Enchanter is accompanied by one of the senior enchanters, and he seems to believe the two of them will be enough.”

“Let us hope they are correct,” he replied, his head bowed wearily.

“How is Connor?” Alistair asked.

“He is… quiet,” Teagan finally replied. “Your mage has somehow kept the demon at bay, and the boy has slept nearly the entire time you were gone. She allows him to awaken for just a few moments each day that he may be fed, though she does so with no less than five templars present the entire time she removes her spells from him.”

A young woman briefly knocked at the open door then and let them know the First Enchanter had arrived and requested to be taken to Connor that they could begin the ritual immediately. Teagan nodded in response, instructing the girl to find Elissa and the others rooms to use as he left to greet Irving and show the way to where Connor slept.

“This way, milady,” she indicated, following Teagan up the main stairs and then veering off down another corridor. “The guest hall this way has been set back almost exactly as it was before the attacks began, so you and your friends should be comfortable there as long as necessary. We’ve already begun to bring water up for baths, and I’ll find some clean clothes for each of you.”

Elissa couldn’t help but allow herself a small smile at the word ‘bath’ as they followed the girl to their rooms. One by one she showed each to a different door, until finally they reached the end of the hall.

“My mistress says you’re to use these chambers, milady,” she curtsied. “And that she’s sending down some of her own gowns for you, that you’re not to wear any of the servants’ dresses. I’m to retrieve them now, if you wish to begin your bath; I’ll return shortly to help you get ready for supper.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Elissa began, but the girl waved her off.

“The arlessa says you’re all to have proper meals at a proper table for as long as you stay here in return for all you’re doing for her family. Now, get your bath and I’ll be back soon with some clean clothes for you.”

 

* * *

 

An hour later Elissa could almost have convinced herself that she never left Highever. The chambers she had been provided with were nearly the size of her apartments at home as well, with a parlor and bedroom, as well as a separate area for her to bathe. In addition she was truly clean for once, and though Isolde’s gowns were more elaborate than ones she would have chosen at home, it actually felt nice to wear a dress for a change.

The serving girl had finally introduced herself as Valena when she returned with some of the arlessa’s gowns. She picked one and once she finally had the dress’s corset securely laced she began to work on Elissa’s hair, braiding it back on itself from high on the crown of her head down to the tips. Satisfied with her work, she gathered up Elissa’s discarded armor to be cleaned and repaired and excused herself.

Standing at the mirror in her dressing room, Elissa barely recognizing the woman staring back at her. She was thinner than she remembered the last time she’d seen her full reflection, though it was possible that the gown’s corset merely made it seem that way.

The gown Valena had selected for her was a rich Orlesian velvet nearly as dark as Elissa’s hair—only in direct light was the slightest tint of the deepest green visible—with a matching brocade corset trimmed in gold that laced in more places than Elissa cared to count.

There was a knock at her main door then, and assuming that it was Valena come to fetch her for dinner Elissa called for the girl to let herself in. Reaching into one of her packs she retrieved the silverite chain with its darkspawn-blood amulet from where she stowed it prior to her bath and frowned a moment while she tried to figure out how to relock the clasp.

“Lissa, that maid wanted me to te-” Alistair began, knocking at the dressing room door, but was cut off by Elissa’s small yelp of surprise.

“Maker, Alistair, don’t scare me like that!” she scolded, until she realized he was staring. “What’s wrong?”

“N- nothing,” he sputtered, “It’s just- You’re so… _tiny_ without your sword and armor.”

She couldn’t help but to laugh. “What, no compliments on my pretty dress?” she asked, twirling in place for him to see her. “Or,” she continued, grinning evilly, “are you suddenly afraid I’ll pick one out for you, too?”

He pretended to pout. “Now, that’s not fair; how am I supposed to tell you no when you’re all dressed up like you are?”

“You’re not,” she smiled, then made a small face as she handed him her necklace. “I couldn’t get it latched again.”

He took the chain, fastening it around her neck before hesitating a moment, his face close to hers. There was another knock at the main door then, and they both startled at the sound. Blushing a bit, Elissa excused herself to answer the door and found Leliana waiting.

“Miss Valena said the arlessa is waiting in the dining hall,” Leliana said as Elissa let her in. Noticing Alistair at the door to the apartment’s dressing room, Leliana raised one eyebrow in mock surprise. “Of course, I am certain I could make an excuse for you both if you needed some time.”

Alistair coughed violently as Elissa flushed scarlet, and Leliana laughed gently.

“Or perhaps not yet,” the older woman smiled. “In either case, I’ll leave you alone a moment. Should you… decide to take your time… I will tell the arlessa that you are unwell and I will bring some supper back for you both later.”

As Leliana closed the door behind her, Alistair coughed again and Elissa had to suppress a giggle. Returning to where he stood, Elissa slid her arms around his neck and rose up to her toes to kiss him. As he pulled her close she realized belatedly that he had likewise exchanged his armor for a simple shirt and trousers, and the unexpected warmth being so close suddenly left her a bit dizzy.

“We should probably go down to supper,” she whispered breathlessly once he released her. He nodded reluctantly, letting her go so she could retrieve the slippers Valena had left to match her gown.

 

* * *

 

Late the next morning Morrigan finally sought Elissa out to inform her that the ritual had been a success. Irving sent Wynne into the Fade to confront the demon possessing Connor, and both had just returned.

“Did they need help?” Elissa asked, confused. “We got here early last night and I looked for you, but couldn’t find you.”

“Your First Enchanter requested I stay through the ritual and continue to subdue the boy’s power. Had the demon overpowered him while the woman was in the Fade, they would both have perished and there would be no chance of saving the child.”

“Thank you, Morrigan, I mean it.”

The witch ignored her. “Now, why were you looking for me? Did you finally bore of that dim-witted fool of a man you insist on keeping around? And what of the priestess-who-is-not? Please tell me you disposed of her while you were away.”

Elissa winced. “No, they’re still both with us,” she began as she glanced to make certain no one would hear them. “I… sort of _borrowed…_ a book from the First Enchanter’s library while we were in the Circle Tower that I think you should look at. I can’t read the language it’s written in, but it- I don’t know, I just thought of you when I looked at it again last night.”

“Very well, take me to it and I will see what I can tell you.”

Elissa led Morrigan back to her rooms, closing and locking the door behind them when they arrived, and dug the black tome out of her gear. She offered it to the witch, who gasped as she touched it.

“This… This is Flemeth’s!” Morrigan whispered in shock. “She told me once, that one of her grimoires was lost to the templars decades ago. You say it was in the First Enchanter’s library?”

Elissa coughed a bit uncomfortably. “Well, locked in a chest in the corner, but yes,” she admitted.

“You have done me a great service indeed,” Morrigan all but purred, her fingers caressing the book’s edge gently. “If you will excuse me, I would like to retire for a while to study the book.”

Still stroking the tome’s binding, Morrigan wandered in the direction of the door absently and Elissa undid the lock to let her out. She had just closed the door again when there was a light knock, and she found Alistair waiting, looking after Morrigan with a baffled look.

“What in the Maker’s name were you two talking about? D’you know she’s actually smiling? I didn’t realize she knew how.”

Shrugging, Elissa let him in. “I just showed her a book I found. I couldn’t read it, and I know three different languages. I thought maybe she’d be interested.”

“So long as she’s not threatening me anymore, I’ll take it,” he laughed as he kissed her. He paused a moment then and stepped back a few paces to look at her.

“This one’s not as tight as the dress you had yesterday,” he pouted, pointing at the pale blue gown she wore and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m sorry, but it took half an hour for Valena to help me out of that dress last night. I had to tell her that I didn’t care what Isolde said, I wanted something I could put on and take off myself from now on.”

“You didn’t call me to help?” he asked plaintively.

She grinned as she kissed him. “You want to help?” she asked archly. “Very well then; but your pants come off, first.”

Alistair went white. “ _What?_ ”

“You heard me. It’s too cold for me to be the only one running around in my smalls. You first, and then you can help me out of this.” She raised her arms a bit to indicate the dress.

His face turned bright crimson as he made an excuse and fled.

 

* * *

 

That evening at supper Alistair still was unable to make eye contact with her, and she wondered if she’d overstepped some unknown boundary.

“What in the Maker’s name did you do to him?” Leliana asked her quietly later once he and most of the others had retired. Blushing, Elissa confessed everything, and the Orlesian woman laughed.

“That _is_ very bold, Elissa,” she smirked. “I know you say you’ve never been with a man before, but that is not the impression you gave him.”

“He started it,” Elissa pouted in return.

“I know, dear, but I would guess that he is just as inexperienced as you are and was unready for you to respond in such a way. Though, it is sometimes hard to tell about the templars.” Leliana nodded once for Elissa to look behind her. “But this is a discussion for another time,” she excused herself as Teagan approached.

“Lady Elissa, might I have a word?”

Elissa had expected to be summoned as soon as Connor was safe and Eamon had woken, but the arl remained unresponsive. “What can I do for you, Bann Teagan?”

Teagan offered her his arm and led her to Eamon’s study where Isolde waited for them. “Isolde and I have been speaking to the First Enchanter and Enchanter Wynne,” he began, offering her a seat. “I admit I was doubtful of Isolde’s decision to send Redcliffe’s knights after the Urn of Sacred Ashes, but Enchanter Wynne thinks it might actually be a legitimate lead to heal Eamon.”

Elissa glanced between the two of them a few moments. “But I thought that was just a myth. Wynne thinks they might actually be found, and that they’ll work?”

“Brother Genitivi in Denerim knows where they can be found, your Grace,” Isolde cut in desperately. “If you only speak to him, he will be able to help you!”

She tried not to let the sting of being addressed as teyrna show on her face. “I don’t know that it’s safe for Alistair and me to go to Denerim right now, Isolde. Loghain has declared us traitors; there are sure to be more of his soldiers hunting for us.”

“We can handle that, Lady Elissa,” Teagan assured her. “If and when you choose to go to Denerim I can send warnings out that you are about to march on Highever to retake your father’s castle. Every one of Loghain’s soldiers and bounty hunters will flock there to find you.”

Biting her lip a bit as she thought, Elissa tried to determine the best path. “I can’t make this decision alone, Teagan,” she finally decided. “Let me talk to Alistair and the others first.”

Nodding, he motioned to Isolde and she stood to leave, curtsying to Elissa as she did. As she closed the door behind her, Teagan leaned heavily on the desk in the center of the room, his back to her.

“There’s something else you should know, my lady, involving Alistair,” he cautioned. “If we succeed in reviving my brother and Eamon learns all that’s happened, he is certain to call a Landsmeet to remove Anora from the throne and her father with her. She bore Cailan no heirs, and she has no right to that throne while there is anyone remaining in the line of Calenhad Theirin.”

He paused, considering his words. “I don’t know if Alistair’s told you or not, but his father-”

“-Was King Maric, I know,” she finished for him before falling quiet for a long while. How had this not occurred to her? Alistair told her who his father was; he even mentioned that Teagan would likely bring it up.

_Does he know they plan to make him king?_

“Teagan, there’s one problem there; Alistair’s a Warden. King or slave, duty to the Wardens must always come first.”

He frowned into the fire in the hearth. “I know that, my lady, but he also owes a duty to Ferelden. Speak to him about it; he trusts you.”

“I’ll tell him what Eamon is likely to suggest,” she agreed. “But I won’t help to influence him.”

 

* * *

 

Alistair had taken the news of the proposed Landsmeet about as she expected he would. “When were they planning to talk to me about this?” he demanded when she told him after breakfast the next morning.

“I was under the impression that this _is_ Teagan’s plan to talk to you about it,” Elissa replied wearily. “At any rate, we have time. How many people know who you are? Perhaps a handful at most? Nothing can happen until Eamon is well enough to call the Landsmeet and vouch for you. We’ll be at least two weeks just to get to Denerim to find Brother Genitivi, then on to wherever we need to go from there, plus time to get back here again. Even after all of that, even if we find the Urn, Eamon will need to regain his strength first.”

He paced before the fire in her parlor, nodding absently. “Is there anyone else that we can suggest in my place? Eamon may not be royalty but he was Cailan’s uncle, and he’d actually be capable.”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “If we could somehow spread his name before he spreads yours? Perhaps. But the moment Eamon says the name Theirin, no one in the Bannorn will watch him anymore—they’ll only see you.”

“But I’m a _Warden_ , Lissa,” he almost pleaded. “I don’t even know how to be king.”

Rising from her settee, she took his face in her hands and kissed him.

“I know you are, dear, and Teagan knows it too. But everyone’s desperate, looking for any light of hope they can find in this darkness. We’ll just focus on one step at a time, and no decisions have to be made yet. If eventually there are no other options, Eamon and I can teach you to be king. Until then, though, you and I are just Grey Wardens seeking allies against the Blight.”


	11. Motherly Meddling

“Prized for their intelligence and loyalty, these dogs are more than mere weapons or status symbols: The hounds choose their masters, and pair with them for life. To be the master of a mabari anywhere in Ferelden is to be recognized instantly as a person of worth.”

 

They waited in Redcliffe two more nights. Alistair and Leliana agreed that going to see Brother Genitivi next to ask after a cure for Eamon was the best plan, and Elissa had Teagan begin sending out misinformation as a distraction. They only waited now for Irving and Wynne to regain their strength for the trip back to the Circle tower, and then they would be leaving as well.

Valena returned on the last day with her equipment, and Elissa gladly exchanged Isolde’s gowns for breeches and simple linen blouses. She had enjoyed her brief return to civility, but they would be leaving soon and she wanted to make certain everything was ready for the next morning. Teagan had pointed out that evening that she and Alistair should leave the Cousland arms behind when they left for Denerim, and remembering how everyone in Ostagar seemed to know the crest Elissa finally agreed. After briefly inspecting her replacement sword she set it to the side and finished packing her things.

The next morning dawned cold, and a heavy frost clung to the ground as everyone gathered in the main courtyard. Teagan had obtained them more than enough gear for the trip—tents and blankets, warm clothing, food, and the like—and everyone had divided the load between them.

As Elissa shivered violently, the main doors from the castle were thrown open and the First Enchanter stormed passed them before starting to slowly make his way down the hill alone.

“What was that all about?” she asked Wynne when she followed soon after.

“Irving does not approve of my decision.”

“And what decision was that?” Elissa asked, suspicion starting to gnaw at her.

“I’ll be joining you for a while.”

Elissa frowned. “Yet you didn’t think to mention it to Alistair or I first? We need you to work on preparing the mages to join us later.”

“Somehow I doubt you’ll get Irving to welcome me for the trip back to the tower, child,” the older woman laughed gently. “He was quite put out when I told him I would not be returning with him.”

“But why are you coming with us rather than returning to the tower?”

“Let us just say my curiosity has been piqued,” Wynne replied cryptically.

Realizing she would just lose this argument right now, Elissa let the matter drop, though not without some grumbling as she began to gather her own gear.

Sten had joined them and taken his share of the gear while Elissa and Wynne were talking, but it was another half-hour before Morrigan finally emerged. When she did she was scowling and swearing as Moira jumped and barked excitedly around her as she descended the stairs.

“Warden!” she called threateningly when her gaze fell on Elissa. “Get this foolish, mangy hound away from me! It has not left me be a single night since you all departed for the Circle tower a week ago.”

Elissa tried to hide her amusement at Morrigan’s predicament but failed. “Is it so bad to have someone who wants to be your friend?” she finally laughed. She’d asked Valena on their first morning back where Moira was, and apparently the mabari had indeed been nearly inseparable from the witch the entire time they were away.

“If I _wanted_ a friend, I’d be friendly to those around me!” Morrigan spat acidly in return. “Your mistress is here now, go back to her!” she commanded the hound, pointing in Elissa’s direction. Moira cocked her head to one side in confusion before letting her tongue loll out in a silly canine smile. When Morrigan threw her hands up in disgust and stalked away Moira trotted over to greet Elissa, licking at her hand, and then returned to the witch once again.

 

* * *

 

The black skies of the blight loomed constantly south as they travelled east, and each morning when they awoke it seemed the clouds were closer than the night before. They quickly fell into a regular routine when time came to set up camp each night: Wynne and Leliana took charge of the party’s meals while Alistair, Elissa, and Sten set up the tents and gathered firewood and clean water.

Morrigan was the one exception. They rarely saw her during the days as she scouted the land before them, and in the evenings she retired to her own tent and fire, always set off to the side from their main site. Prior to turning in she would call Elissa to her fire and relay anything she’d seen of interest that day. Most times it would be either the locations of refugee or bandit camps along the highway, but on some occasions she reported darkspawn scouts ahead of the main horde. Each night Elissa planned the next day’s route according Morrigan’s reports. On the rare occasion that the witch found something so urgent that it could not wait until evening she would return to them and a new route would quickly be chosen.

The days were largely quiet as they walked, but most nights Elissa would spend time speaking with each of the others, checking on their well being. Leliana responded warmly as always, though Sten remained reticent. He was never rude; rather he simply chose not to share more than the sparsest of details when answering her questions.

The one problem she’d encountered was Wynne. The mage was kind to each of them but Elissa had the distinct impression she was being judged by the woman when the mage chose not to speak, rather than when she did. Aside from the barest pleasantries Elissa avoided her as much as possible, choosing instead to sit with Alistair by the fire, talking and laughing quietly until time came for bed, when they finally parted to their separate tents until time for their respective watches.

Having separate tents created another problem of its own, however. Prior to reaching Redcliffe she may have had to share their sole tent with Leliana, but at least the extra company meant extra warmth against the cold nights. Temperatures were falling more with each night, though, and Moira was still spending most of their camp time following Morrigan wherever she went so Elissa spent most nights shivering in her blankets instead.

On the eighth morning Elissa awoke to the darkspawn’s song for the first time since they’d left the wilds, and Morrigan returned to them barely an hour after she’d left to report that the main body of the horde had sacked Lothering in the night. Elissa shared a long look with Leliana, neither of them daring to speak, and she prayed silently that Bethany had taken her advice and fled with Leandra before it was too late.

With the horde so close, Morrigan no longer ranged out ahead of their group, and they planned their movements much more carefully. The two young Wardens placed themselves always between the source of the cursed song and the rest of the party, often calling the others to stop while they listened to be certain they weren’t inadvertently walking into a darkspawn trap. Each night double watches were set, with Alistair taking one half of each night while Elissa took the other in addition to the normal watch shifts kept by the others.

They continued on such a high alert for the next four nights as they followed the northern bank of the Drakon toward Denerim. As the river finally turned north so did they, and once they finally passed the South Reach bannorn the sound of the horde had faded far enough behind them that Elissa and Alistair agreed that it would be safe to return to their previous routine.

Elissa realized as they travelled that her appetite was growing more and more bothersome, particularly after over a fortnight of travel and poor sleep. Between her appetite and Alistair’s their supplies were running much lower than they’d planned, and the constant hunger combined with fatigue was gradually making her as waspish as Morrigan with much of their group. Before long Alistair was the only one not rewarded with thinly-veiled sarcasm at best, and the others quickly began to pass messages through him to avoid her temper.

They were perhaps two nights from Denerim when Wynne finally confronted her during her watch. “You’re quite taken with each other, aren’t you?”

Elissa tensed at the sound of the mage’s voice. She was not in any mood to deal with anyone tonight, much less Wynne and her constant disapproval. If the older woman noticed, however, she did not comment on Elissa’s attitude and continued regardless.

“It’s hard not to notice the doe-eyed looks he gives you, especially when he thinks no one’s watching. It’s almost too sweet for my tastes, and I’m an old lady who should be making lace hearts and fuzzy blankets with animal motifs.”

“Maybe you should go make a fuzzy blanket and leave us alone, then,” Elissa snapped in reply.

Wynne’s face hardened. “No, I won’t be making socks with pom-poms for you anytime soon, but that’s hardly my point.”

“Then what _is_ your point?”

“I’ve noticed your blossoming relationship, and I wanted to ask you where you thought it was going.”

Elissa stared at Wynne, stuck someplace between shock and anger at the older woman’s implication.

“You want to know where I think it’s going?” she finally asked, almost too quietly.

“I do. Alistair is a fine lad, skilled in battle, but quite inexperienced when it comes to affairs of the heart. I would hate to see him get hurt.”

Fuming, Elissa struggled to control her temper. “Our _relationship_ goes from today to tomorrow. Not because of any flightiness on either of our parts, but because we don’t know at any given moment if we’ll be alive beyond tomorrow. Loghain might accuse you or Leliana or Sten of guilt by association and have you jailed, but Alistair and I are the ones he declared traitors, to be killed or captured at any cost. Alistair and I are the ones who will ultimately face the Archdemon, if we cannot get word to the Wardens of Orlais or the Free Marches.”

_And if what Duncan told me is true, Alistair and I are the ones that will be killed facing the Archdemon, regardless of our success, that all of you might survive and lament that we died so young, so soon before our time._

“Each morning when tomorrow becomes today Alistair and I are grateful that we get to see another dawn, and that we have each other for another day.”

Wynne sighed almost sadly, shaking her head. “I do not mean to imply that you will hurt him intentionally, child. But there is great potential for tragedy here, for one or both of you. You are both Grey Wardens. He is the son of a king. You are quite possibly the Teyrna of Highever. There are a great many responsibilities which must supersede your personal desires.”

Elissa realized angrily that tears stung in her eyes, which she blinked away as quickly as she could.

“Love is ultimately selfish, child. It demands that one be devoted to a single person, who may fully occupy one’s mind and heart, to the exclusion of all else.”

“We know our duties, Wynne,” she whispered finally. “But that doesn’t mean that Alistair and I have to give up our own chance at the joy everyone else takes for granted. If anything, our happiness means more than theirs, because we know better than anyone right now how quickly it can be taken away from us.”

The mage sighed sadly. “I have given my advice. Do with it what you will. For now, go get some sleep, and I will finish this watch. Perhaps with proper rest you will begin to see things more clearly.”

 


	12. Helene of Val Chevin

“And then Isabela went to the Chantry, and saw that it was… boring.”  
-Isabela 1:1

 

“Allow me to go alone first. I will see what news I can find, determine if it is safe for you and Alistair to enter the city.”

They set camp about an hour outside Denerim, stopping to consider how they should proceed. As much as Elissa wished to just enter the city and find an inn, she had to agree with Leliana’s suggestion of proceeding more cautiously. She nodded in consent, and the Orlesian woman gathered a few items before heading toward the Imperial Highway.

It was still early afternoon, so Elissa decided it would be best to wait for Leliana to return before they set up their tents in case they could enter the city after all. As they gathered a sufficient amount of firewood and started a small fire, Elissa sent Moira out with instructions to find them some hares for stew. It was nowhere near time for supper, but Elissa desperately needed something more to eat than the sparse rations they had remaining. Fetching a few pails of water from a nearby creek and leaving them with Wynne, she excused herself and went in search of Alistair.

With the exception of the four days spent wearily avoiding the darkspawn, they had established the pretense of sparring a short distance from camp most nights not long after leaving Redcliffe. Their rendezvous typically began with a bit of careful practice; him advising her on how to combat larger opponents or her trying to instruct him to be stealthier in battle. The charade was almost always abandoned sooner rather than later, though. Instead they spent much of their time talking—and a bit more than a few moments snogging—enjoying each other’s company and the illusion of privacy.

Following the creek Elissa found Alistair waiting for her in a small glen not far downstream and smiled when she saw him. He hadn’t noticed her yet, so she decided to sneak up and get the lesson portion of this meeting out of the way quickly. She moved carefully around the edge of the brush, creeping along until at the last minute she lost her footing and slid down the bank, passed a bewildered Alistair and fell gracelessly into the creek.

“So,” he grinned, helping her up. “This was a lesson in what _not_ to do when sneaking around, I take it?”

“Oh hush or I’ll drag you down here with me,” she laughed, punching at his arm as she stood.

Shivering, she wrung the water from her cloak as best she could and draped it across a low-hanging branch to dry. Alistair offered her his cloak, and she accepted it gratefully, pulling it close around her before sitting against a nearby log.

“We could go back to camp if you like,” he offered. “It’ll be easier to keep warm by Enchanter Wynne’s fire.”

Elissa smirked a bit. “I’d rather you keep me warm, my prince.”

Alistair made a face. “You know, that’s not near as endearing now that I know Eamon and Teagan are going to actually suggest that I be made king,” he complained.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think of that,” she admitted. “We’ll talk about something else then. What about how you ended up training with the Templars before Duncan recruited you?”

Alistair sighed, but he told the story anyway. He told her how he lived in Redcliffe until he was ten; how Isolde, not realizing he was Maric’s bastard and not Eamon’s threw a fit that he was allowed to stay at the castle, insisting that he be sent to the Chantry; and of the tantrum he threw himself when he learned the news.

Elissa could only listen in horror. When she was ten she was running around covered in mud, with a practice sword in one hand and an evil grin as she chased Fergus around imagining that she was a pirate, or Warden, or knight. At the same age her Alistair was forced from the only home he ever knew, sent away first to a monastery and later to the templars themselves for training.

“…I remember I had an amulet of my mother’s back then,” he continued, “with Andraste’s holy symbol on it. I was furious at being sent away, and I tore it off and threw it at the Arl. It was the only thing I ever had of hers, and I lost it in a childish fit.”

She tensed slightly, thinking of the charm she’d found in Eamon’s desk. _An amulet with Andraste’s symbol?_ She realized suddenly that she’d forgotten to return the pendant to the drawer where she’d found it the day the left for the Circle Tower.

“You were young,” she whispered. “We all do things we regret when we’re young.”

“Yeah,” he smiled sadly, “but it was a royally stupid thing that I did. But what do I know? Maybe all young bastards act like that.”

“Well,” she began, “I don’t know any other bastards for a direct comparison, but even that doesn’t sound much like what I’ve heard about them. For one thing, in stories bastards are normally scoundrels, and I somehow doubt you’d be able to even consider being less than a gentleman.”

He pretended to scoff in disbelief, and she laughed. “See? You’re even offended at the thought!”

“Am not!” he protested indignantly. “I just happen to believe that being a gentleman is the proper way to court a lady.”

She pretended to consider this. “I have to admit,” she replied finally with a grin, “it has gotten you farther than any other man who’s tried to win my affections, scoundrel _or_ gentleman.”

“See? –Wait, how many men?”

Elissa sighed dramatically. “I said _tried_ , dear. None of them succeeded, and even those who were more… persistent… typically let me be once they realized I could kick their asses without even trying.”

“You do tend to fight dirty, you know,” he laughed.

She shrugged. “A girl does what she must to avoid being married off by her mother.”

“Like threatening to become an Orlesian bard?”

“Exactly,” she smirked before kissing him. “And, if necessary, by actually carrying through with the threat.”

“Speaking of Orlesians,” she murmured ruefully, “Leliana should be returning soon, and we should probably get back so we can be ready to head into the city if it’s safe.”

He stood and retrieved her still damp cloak, then offered her his hand. Linking her arm in his she smiled as they returned to camp.

Leliana returned shortly after they did. “Tensions are high,” she reported. “But there is traffic enough into and out of the city that we can pass without notice. I have taken the liberty of reserving a few rooms at an inn near the market. Elissa, you know Orlesian, yes?”

“Of course I do,” she replied.

“Good. I told the inn keeper that I represented Lady Hélène of Val Chevin. My mistress has come to Denerim as a pilgrim, seeking to honor Our Lady Redeemer in the city of the Prophetess’s birth.”

Elissa frowned. “I can act the part, Leliana, but you realize that I don’t exactly _look_ like an Orlesian noblewoman.”

“That is easily remedied,” the redhead assured her confidently. “I have some few simple gowns that Miss Valena provided before we left Redcliffe. They are not exactly Orlesian high fashion, but surely your more sensible bodyguards would have convinced you to adopt a more modest appearance during your travels—for safety’s sake, of course.”

“And what of the rest of us?” Morrigan demanded.

Leliana was nonplussed. “I will be Lady Hélène’s maid. Enchanter Wynne will be her grandmother, Lady Véronique, and you will be Véronique’s maid. Alistair and Sten are the ladies’ bodyguards.”

“If you think I will be a servant—”

“It is a matter of propriety, Morrigan. Orlesian maids exist more to vouch for their lady’s honor, and many maids are noblewomen themselves.” Leliana paused, glancing between Alistair and Elissa with a smirk. “It is not uncommon that a noblewoman has an affair with her bodyguard, in spite of—or sometimes with the assistance of—her maids.”

Alistair coughed uncomfortably. “Can we just get on with this? I’ll put up one of the tents for you ladies to get changed, and then I’ll go find a helmet somewhere.”

“I brought two back with me, one for each of you, Alistair,” Leliana called after him. “You can find them in that pack I brought back.”

 

* * *

 

An hour later they were changed and back on the road. Elissa had to wonder if Leliana had planned this deception all along; what her friend had described as simple gowns may have been less elaborate than what a noblewoman would have worn in Val Royeaux, but they were certainly more formal than even most of her mother’s gowns.

They entered the city without incident, and Leliana led them to the inn she visited earlier. Their rooms were in fact a large suite, and Elissa couldn’t help but wonder how Leliana had paid for such quarters.

“So,” Alistair began when the main door was securely locked behind them. “What was it you said you did, before you joined the Chantry?”

For perhaps the first time since Elissa met the woman, Leliana became defensive. “I did not say, Alistair, and a gentleman would not pester a lady about such things,” she replied primly.

“That doesn’t matter,” Elissa interrupted. “Wynne, do you know where we can find Brother Genitivi?”

“It has been quite a few years since I have been to the capital, but I believe I remember where he lives. His house should be not far from here, in the market district.”

Elissa started to chew on one nail as she thought, and Leliana automatically stopped her. “Such habits are not acceptable for a lady of your standing, Lady Hélène,” she chided.

“Sorry,” she replied absently. “Genitivi is a scholar of Andrastian lore, isn’t he? That’s why he may know where her ashes are?”

Wynne nodded in agreement. “He is. Perhaps it would be better for someone to go to him and ask that he return here to speak with you than for you to seek him out personally, however. We are here under the pretense of being Orlesian nobles, and no Orlesian noble would visit the home of a random scholar.”

“We’ll do that then,” Elissa decided. “It’s too late for today, so we’ll start in the morning.”

 

* * *

 

They spent almost a week waiting while Leliana, Morrigan, and Sten ventured into the city to seek out Genitivi. As they waited, Leliana maintained their façade; rousing Elissa shortly before dawn, dressing her and pinning her hair before escorting her to the Chantry for Matins and mass before breakfast and to Vespers after supper each day.

“You are here as a pilgrim, Lady Hélène,” Leliana reminded her when she complained one morning about the routine.

“Then let me go to the Birth Rock!” Elissa huffed, fidgeting in her seat while Leliana curled and pinned her hair. “Not even my own mother made me go to services this often!”

Leliana smiled. “Based on what Morrigan learned yesterday, Genitivi is always in the city for the Satinalia feast. That gives you at least two more days of enjoying hot baths and a warm bed. Then we will speak to the Brother, you will make your pilgrimage, and we can be on our way.”

“You forgot to mention three hours of prayer in the morning and two more in the evening each of those days.”

“The quiet and contemplation will do you good,” her friend replied knowingly. “And confession too, surely.”

“I am _not_ going to confession!”

“Oh?” The Orlesian woman feigned surprise. “Have you no wicked deeds to confess before completing your pilgrimage? It is expected, you know.”

Elissa flushed crimson. “How many wicked deeds can I have to confess, with you forcing me into five hours of services each day?!”

“I should perhaps have a word with Alistair, then, if he has still not given you anything to confess—for the sake of our disguise, of course.”

“That’s it,” Elissa declared indignantly, standing. “I’m not going anywhere today. Tell the Revered Mothers that I’m ill if you wish, but I am _not_ going to continue to listen to this.”

There was a disapproving tsk behind her, and Elissa stopped just short of leaving the room. “What is it?” she asked finally.

“Oh, nothing,” Leliana replied lightly. “I just thought you’d enjoy a trip to the markets today after services. It is customary in both Orlais and Ferelden for nobles to give gifts to their servants on the Feast Day.”

She knew she was being goaded—bribed, even—but the thought of leaving their rooms for any reason other than prayer was too tempting to pass up.

“Fine,” she finally relented, plopping inelegantly on the seat of the vanity for Leliana to finish her work. “But only because I need fresh air.”

Hours later Elissa finally roamed the markets of Denerim with Leliana, seeking gifts for Lady Hélène’s household for the Satinalia feast. It was a bit frustrating, having to pretend not to understand as Leliana haggled with the merchants on her behalf, and she often interrupted them in Orlesian, asking after an item or arguing with her friend over an agreed upon price.

It was nearly supper when they returned to their rooms at the inn, and the porters from the various merchants had delivered the majority of their purchases ahead of their arrival. Elissa was slightly shocked at the volume of packages that waited in her parlor.

“Leliana,” she began cautiously, “I know you told Alistair not to ask, but how do you know some of the things you do? Orlesian culture and society I understand, but the subterfuge? The games of the nobility? Who were you before you came to Lothering?”

“There are many games played in Orlais, Elissa,” Leliana replied sorrowfully. “And as I have mentioned once before, they are not always so glamorous as the nobles would like to believe.”

Elissa thought carefully about how to continue. She knew she was coming close to crossing the line between concern and nosiness, but she had to know. “What was it that made you leave the game?” she asked gently.

“I- I was betrayed by one very dear to me,” the bard finally admitted quietly. “Not only that, but I was accused of the treason committed by my betrayer. I was a no body, and my master was well known if not well loved. They did not even give me a trial.”

Leliana excused herself and did not return that evening to escort Elissa to Vespers. Grateful for the reprieve but guilty that she had stirred such painful memories in her friend, Elissa knocked gently at her door to apologize but did not receive a response. She considered letting herself in, but thought better of it and made her way back to her own room.

Sitting at the vanity she began to remove the pins from her hair, setting them in a small case nearby. There was a hesitant knock at her door, and when she answered she smiled to find Alistair waiting on the other side.

“So, is one of those out there for me?” he asked, gesturing back at the stack of packages in the parlor with a grin as she let him in.

“Perhaps,” she smiled back at him, closing the door behind them and sliding her arms around his neck. “I don’t know if you’ve earned it, though.”

“Since when do you have to earn a Feast Day present?” he pouted.

She smirked back at him. “Dear, I’m a Cousland, and we deal very fairly with those around us in all things. How fair would it be to one person if I gave gifts to another that did not earn th—”

He cut her off with a deep, heavy kiss that made her knees give out from under her. Chuckling a bit he lifted her by the waist until she could support herself again before releasing her lips.

“Have I earned my present yet, my lady?”

“Mmm, I’m not certain,” she replied breathlessly. “A small gift, perhaps, but not something as grand as a Feast Day gift.”

Disentangling her from his neck, he grinned. “Hold that thought.”

He was gone before she could protest, and returned a moment later with a small package wrapped in paper.

“What’s this?”

Shrugging casually, he grinned as he handed her the gift. “I haven’t been cooped up in here quite as much as you have, so I was able to pick this up a few days ago.”

Eyeing him suspiciously, she carefully removed the paper and opened the box inside. She gasped when she saw its contents: a silverite cloak pin adorned by a double-headed griffon.

“Alistair, it’s lovely!”

He beamed as she inspected the feather detail on the brooch’s front. “I wouldn’t wear it here in Denerim, but it should be safe enough to use it once we’re on the road again.”

“Thank you,” she whispered as she lifted herself on her toes to kiss him again. “And I suppose that you’ve earned your own gift. Now then, close your eyes. I don’t have yours wrapped.”

She opened a drawer on the vanity and retrieved the amulet from Arl Eamon’s study. Taking one of his hands she placed it in his palm and closed his fingers around it.

“You can look now.”

Opening his eyes in confusion he inspected the pendant a moment before staring at Elissa in shock. “This… this is my mother’s amulet! It has to be. Where did you find it?”

“I found it in Eamon’s desk, the day we left Redcliffe for the tower. I didn’t even remember that I still had it until just before we got here, and when you mentioned losing your mother’s amulet I realized it must be the same.”

Alistair stared in wonder at the amulet again. “I thought I’d lost this to my own stupidity.” He unlatched the chain holding the pendant from his own Joining and added the charm to it before tucking them back under his shirt.

“Thank you, Elissa,” he whispered, pulling her close again. “I mean it. No one’s ever done so much for me.”

Drawing him down to her she kissed him again, long and deep and before either of them realized it her back was pressed against one of the posts of her bed. They stayed there for a long while, neither daring to break away from the other. Eventually she began to tug at where his shirt was tucked into his trousers and he caught one of her hands by the wrist.

“Not yet,” he breathed regretfully in her ear as he moved her hand back up to his chest. “Soon, but not yet.”

Elissa smiled ruefully. “In that case, dear, you should probably go,” she whispered back. “If you don’t, I can’t promise that I’ll let you go later.”

“All right,” he groaned before kissing her goodnight and letting himself out.

The snows came to Denerim that night, and Elissa had to add extra logs to her fire to keep warm. Blushing to herself, she wondered idly if she would have needed the fire if Alistair hadn’t stopped her earlier in the evening. Once she was satisfied that the fire wouldn’t go out before morning, she stepped over Moira and padded back across the rug to her bed and burrowed deep under the comforters and was asleep in just moments.

 

* * *

 

The next day was largely uneventful. Leliana woke her as usual just before dawn and helped her to prepare for morning prayers. When Elissa tried to apologize for prying the day before the Orlesian woman waved off her concerns, insisting that it was nothing as she finished a complex series of braids in Elissa’s dark hair.

“It seems as if Brother Genitivi’s assistant returned last night, so Morrigan and I will pay a visit once you and I are done with Matins today,” the bard informed her. “You should make a show of going to confession so that we can pay our respects at the Birth Rock and make our way out of the city as soon as we have the information we need from the Brother.”

Ignoring the comment about confession, Elissa pursed her lips in thought. “Do you think this assistant will be able to tell us where to find Andraste’s ashes?”

“It is worth a try,” Leliana shrugged. “And if he does not know, his master should return by tomorrow and we can invite the Brother to sup with the Ladies Hélène and Véronique.”

Nodding absently, Elissa let Leliana finish her work. Finally satisfied, Leliana smiled and excused herself, so Elissa waited in the parlor for her friend to return so they could get this morning’s services over with.

Matins was excessively long that morning, as was the mass that followed. After services Leliana spoke to one of the sisters, returning a few moments later.

“Sister Theohild speaks our language, my lady Hélène,” the redhead informed her in Orlesian when she returned. “And she has agreed to hear your confession today, that you might complete your holy pilgrimage after the feasts tomorrow and return to Val Chevin before the weather turns any more sour than it already has.”

Confession with the Sister was an interesting experience. Elissa could not tell if the woman’s food-related misquotations of the Chant of Light were deliberate or the result of senility. Even worse, she never spoke in Orlesian when she made these mistakes, and Elissa struggled not to laugh when the sister replaced the word veil with veal and beacon with bacon in Transfigurations.

Finally, the sister dismissed her, stating that she was absolved of sins and to spread the word of the Chant wherever she traveled. Elissa curtsied gracefully, and as she left the confessional she found Sten waiting for her.

“Basra-tamassran asked that I escort you back to your rooms,” he stated quietly when she gave him a questioning look. “She has gone to request the presence of the scholar you are seeking.”

Elissa nodded and followed him back to the inn. Just before they arrived she remembered a shop not far away that she and Leliana visited the day before, and asked Sten if they could stop for a moment. He agreed reluctantly, and she entered the shop while he waited at the door for her.

The item she was looking for was still on display: a pair of delicate satin slippers with a tapered heel and ribbons that wrapped around the lower portion of the leg. She balked at the price the dwarven merchant charged, arguing with him in Orlesian. His fluency with the language was not as good as her own, and frustrated he finally refused her counter offers, stating that if she wanted the shoes that badly she could pay full price. Fuming, she finally handed over the eight silvers he required, and he wrapped up the slippers smugly.

That evening after Vespers Elissa called each of them to her room individually to give them the gifts she had purchased: a thick golden chain for Morrigan, a small warrior totem for Sten, a bottle of fine wine for Wynne, and finally the slippers for Leliana.

“Oh! They’re so dear!” Leliana squealed as she unwrapped the package and immediately kicked off the slippers she was wearing to try the new ones on.

“I saw you noticing them in the shop yesterday, so I stopped by with Sten on the way back this morning to get them for you,” Elissa smiled.

“Thank you so much!” the Orlesian woman beamed back to her. “I wish I had as productive a morning. Morrigan and I went to see Genitivi again, but his assistant, Weylon? He insisted we were mistaken, that there was never a Genitivi there!”

Elissa frowned. “But he must know that we know there is. He can’t possibly expect to get away with that lie.”

“Exactly,” Leliana replied. “I think we should have Lady Hélène complete her pilgrimage first thing in the morning, and then we’ll visit one last time, all of us together.”

The next morning Leliana woke Elissa early as usual, but instead of a gown she set out Elissa’s armor, her face dark.

“What’s wrong?”

“We are not going to Matins today, or to the Birth Rock,” the bard answered grimly. “Last night I decided to pay Weylon another visit to ask after Genitivi. I have the information we need, but there is more at work here than we expected.”

“And?”

“Weylon is dead; it appears that he has been for some time. The imposter we thought to be Weylon attacked me when he realized I had discovered the truth, and he had to be… disposed of.”

Elissa stared at Leliana in disbelief. “What about Genitivi?”

“His notes stated that he was going somewhere in the Frostback Mountains, by way of the Lake Calenhad docks. I am certain he will be there no longer, but there we can ask after him and perhaps find better clues.”


	13. A Murder of Crows

_"Antiva is a terrible place. It's full of assassins… and Antivans."_

 

They moved as quickly as possible along the north road through the Amaranthine arling, but the gathering snows slowed their progress. They returned to their previous routine of having Morrigan scout out ahead of them as they travelled, but she had nothing to report more evenings than not and the longer they continued without incident, the tenser Leliana became.

“Is everything alright?” Elissa asked her on the fourth night as they set up camp in a small copse not far off the road.

“I hope it is nothing,” Leliana replied. “I know that no one saw us leave Denerim, but my instincts tell me we are being followed—hunted, even.”

Elissa frowned. “Hunted by whom?”

“I am sorry. I am probably overreacting, worrying over shadows.”

“No, I’ll ask Morrigan to track behind us a bit when she leaves tomorrow and see if she can find anything. It’s better to be over cautious than to be caught in an ambush.”

Leliana handed her two bowls of stew, one for herself and one for Alistair. “You two should stay close to camp the next few nights. It would not do to have either of you snatched away in the middle of the night.”

Smiling, Elissa agreed as she took her extra bowl and settled next to Alistair not far from the fire.

“What’s wrong with Leliana?” he asked between spoonfuls of stew after accepting the bowl.

“It’s nothing; she’s just concerned that we weren’t exactly stealthy when we left Denerim. I’m going to ask Morrigan to check behind us tomorrow to make sure we aren’t being followed, and we’ll be a bit more cautious as we proceed until we’re certain there’s no ambush waiting ahead of us either.”

“You think she might be right about it?”

“I don’t know. It’s certainly been a while since we heard anything from Loghain, and we had to have been seen at some point while in the city.”

Alistair finished his bowl and was looking longingly at the pot near the fire. As soon as Elissa emptied her own he took it and refilled their bowls, returning and handing it back to her as he sat.

“Putting a bounty on us is one thing, but Loghain’s not the sort to hire assassins if that’s what you two are thinking.”

“He was never the sort before a few months ago to sacrifice his king to the darkspawn, either.”

 

* * *

 

Leliana’s instincts proved true late the next morning. Morrigan returned to them just before noon, reporting a dozen mercenaries about a mile ahead of them.

“I got close enough to hear them, and their leader seems to be an elf—dark skinned—though his accent is a strange one that I’ve not heard before. They are most certainly seeking you, Wardens; the elf gave his men very specific descriptions of you both.”

Leliana scowled. “What sort of accent?”

“I do not know how to describe it,” Morrigan protested. “As I said, it is one I’ve not heard before. His vowels are more direct than yours, and some of his consonants carry a sort of trill.”

Elissa and Leliana shared a long, silent glance: _Antivan_.

“Can we get around them?”

The witch shook her head. “I doubt it. I could make it through unnoticed and perhaps you and Leliana could do the same, but Alistair and Sten both would be unable to get through the path I used in their armor, and the bramble is too thick for the Circle robes Wynne wears.”

Elissa’s brows knit together in thought. “Where is this path, in relation to the road and their ambush?”

Morrigan scratched out a crude map in the dirt. “They are positioned here, in the center of the main road. Their archers are positioned on the ridges to either side of the road, here and here. The path I found is cut into the ridge itself, to the south about a half mile.”

“Lissa,” Alistair interrupted. “What are you thinking?”

She flashed him a grin. “An ambush is only good so long as the victim doesn’t know it’s coming. I’m thinking that we spring their trap. Morrigan, you said the elf described Alistair and I in detail, what about the rest of you?”

“He seemed to be aware that you were not travelling alone, but did not discuss the rest of us specifically that I could hear.”

“In that case, I want you to loop around through the path you found and come up behind them. The rest of us will spring their trap and close them in. Is there anywhere Leliana can get a clear line of sight?”

“Indeed; if she comes with me she can take the archers’ position on the south ridge and clear off those on the north side from there.”

Elissa glanced at Leliana and the bard nodded silently, already retrieving her bowstring from a pouch at her belt. “I’m ready when you are, Elissa.”

“Good. Alistair and Sten, stay between Wynne and the mercenaries as much as possible, and take out as many of them as you can.”

Alistair agreed reluctantly. “But what about you?”

“ _Es hora de bailar,_ ” she grinned back at him as she drew her blades and began to lead them toward the ambush. Morrigan and Leliana went south to loop around the assassins, but Alistair just stood there with a bewildered look on his face.

“Since when do you speak Antivan?”

The trap was set just as Morrigan had described it. Elissa sensed rather than saw the half dozen archers to her left and right, and the elf stood casually leaning against a signpost near the road. Not far, another half dozen warriors argued amongst themselves. The elf noticed her and whistled to his men.

“Ah, my dear Wardens!” he welcomed them grandly. “You are right on schedule. I apologize that we could not meet under kinder circumstances, as I hold your order in the highest regards.”

His men circled them as he spoke, drawing their own weapons. “Alas,” he continued in mock sorrow, “business demands that I kill you where you stand.”

Elissa smiled graciously. “ _Por supuesto, señor,_ ” she replied with a small bow. “I wouldn’t dream of denying you the chance to do your duty.”

There were screams behind them, and a series of arrows arced across the road to the north ridge. The thugs on the ground with the elf charged her, but she ducked around them easily and they continued on to Alistair and Sten.

The Antivan leered at her and drew his blades, a sword and dagger similar to her own. “ _¿Bailamos?”_

“ _Me encantaría.”_

They circled one other, each wearily testing the other’s defenses with a few cautious blows. She struck, and he blocked. He slashed, and she parried. He retreated as she advanced, then they circled and did it all over again.

Gradually they picked up speed, neither giving ground to the other in the flurry of steel. Strike. Parry. Riposte. Remise. Elissa’s companions finished off the thugs as she and the Antivan fought, staring at the two as they dueled. Lunge. Dodge. Flick. Croisé.

They danced for what felt like an eternity. But ultimately she had him, and they both knew it. The assassin kicked out at her, trying to knock her off her feet, but she dropped her weapons and grabbed his boot before he could connect. He landed with a heavy thud in the dirt, and retrieving her sword she pressed one foot to his throat and the tip of her blade to his groin.

“I yield!” he screamed in panic, his eyes not leaving her sword, his now empty hands held where they were easily visible.

“I rather thought you might,” she smiled sweetly down at him. “Alistair, dear, retrieve his weapons?” The templar did as she asked before retreating a few paces again.

She removed her boot from his throat, but left the sword as it was. “Do I even need to ask who sent you?”

“Ah, but that is a matter for discussion, is it not?” He relaxed a bit, but still eyed her weapon wearily. “In the most literal sense, I was sent by the Antivan Crows, as they were the ones to assign me to this contract. However, I suspect you are not interested in such semantics. The man paying the Crows for this contract is one Loghain, in your capital.”

“The price didn’t include your silence, I take it?”

The elf smiled. “Silence was never discussed, as had I completed my task successfully, I doubt you would be very interested in conversation. Ah! But my manners! I am Zevran, and I am at your service, if you will have me.”

Elissa watched him for a few moments and finally sheathed her sword. “You must think I’m royally stupid.”

“My dear lady, I think you are royally tough to kill. And, of course, utterly gorgeous. Not that I think you’ll respond to simple flattery.”

She raised one eyebrow in disbelief. “Considering you just tried to kill us? No, I don’t think so.”

“Alas,” he sighed regretfully. “But! It is nonetheless true that you now hold my life in your hands. Naturally, I am curious: what do you intend to do with it? Will you slice me up? Or will you hear my... proposition?”

“Spit it out.”

“As I have failed to terminate you, the Crows will now consider my life forfeit. If I am lucky, they will assume you have killed me regardless of your decision today. The Crows do not take kindly to failure, however, and it is much more likely that they will send someone to dispatch me when they discover that you yet live.”

Elissa stared at him in shock. “So you want me to what, protect you from your employers?!”

“You could otherwise kill me now,” he shrugged, sitting up finally. “Setting me free would be equally lethal, and but doing so quickly would be more efficient. On the other hand, if you take me with you I can provide a _great variety_ of services.”

_Andraste’s ass._

“Fine,” she spat finally. “Get up and move.”

Alistair sputtered. “Lissa, you can’t possibly take him with us!”

“I can’t kill him in cold blood, either,” she scowled. “Don't give him his weapons, though. Not killing him doesn't mean I'm going to trust him.”

Before they stopped for the first night after recruiting Zevran, Elissa regretted not killing him when she had the chance. They bound his hands before they set out again, and after less than an hour had passed Wynne offered a strip of cloth to gag him with as well. This only seemed to encourage the Antivan even further and he grinned lasciviously around the cloth as best as he could.

Camp that night was even worse than the afternoon had been. The moment Leliana removed the gag so he could eat supper, he began to babble non-stop: praising the men’s’ strength, admiring the women’s’ beauty, and wondering above all at Elissa’s skill in their earlier duel.

“Never before have I seen a woman fight so!” he beamed. “Back home in Antiva, our women are just as deadly as the men, but not with blades as you are. Antivan ladies fight-”

“‘With kindness and poison only’, yes, I know,” she finished, rolling her eyes. Oriana had told Elissa the same thing after seeing her practice the first few times after coming to Highever with Fergus.

Encouraged, Zevran grinned. “You seem to know much of Antiva, my dear Warden. Learned it from a former lover, perhaps? Care to take a new one?”

Alistair was fuming not far away, and for a moment Elissa considered letting him quiet the Antivan for her. Instead she crossed to where he sat eating his stew, arms still partially bound, and kicked the bowl casually out of his hands.

“Supper’s over, elf.”

“Ah! So it is time for dessert, yes?”

It took all Elissa had in her not to break his nose right there. “It’s _time_ for you to be quiet, unless you want me to change my mind and kill you after all.” Kneeling, she tied the gag to shut him up again.

“Frhmmrgrgh.”

Satisfied she had it knotted as tight as possible, she retrieved her own bowl of stew and sat with Alistair until time for bed.

 

* * *

 

The moment Elissa woke the next morning, she knew something was wrong. Initially, she thought it might have just been the cold making its way into her tent from where Moira let herself out. Then she realized she smelled bacon.

She and Leliana had picked up more than enough supplies to get them from Denerim to Lake Calenhad, even with her and Alistair’s excessive appetite. Very few of those supplies had been meats, though. And none of them were bacon.

It wasn’t quite dawn, and Elissa tried groggily to remember who had the last watch that they’d still be awake. Tossing back the flap of her tent she twisted around to see the fire, and her jaw dropped in disbelief. “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?”

Zevran clucked his tongue at her disapprovingly as he tossed Moira a piece of bacon. “That is no language fit for a lady of your undying beauty! Come, I have been fixing breakfast. Your supplies were sorely lacking, however, so I had to procure something more appropriate.”

“You’re insane if you think I’m going to eat anything you’ve cooked.”

“More for the rest of us, then,” he shrugged.

Leliana emerged from her tent a moment later in confusion. “Elissa, what is the commotion?” she yawned.

“The hell is he doing free?” Alistair suddenly demanded from his own tent, his armor left behind but his sword in his hand. “And where’s Morrigan? It was her watch, wasn’t it?”

“The dark haired minx with eyes like gold? She expressed concern over the terrain you are planning to cross today. I was not sleeping, so I assured her I could shout for help and wake you all should trouble arise while she investigated.” He lifted the pan slightly in Alistair’s direction. “Care for some bacon?”

Alistair actually glanced at Elissa as if for permission, and she just barely shook her head no.

She groaned, rubbing one temple. “Zevran, if Morrigan left you to ‘shout for help’ if something happened while she was away, why are you untied and cooking breakfast?”

“To be truthful, I tried to cook while still bound,” he grinned. “I burned several slices of bacon in the process. Your hound did not mind them, but they were not something I would serve to another person. I took the liberty of releasing myself so that I could better prepare the meal.”

“Well, get rid of it all. We’re not eating anything you’ve cooked, not a day after you tried to kill us. And should I even bother tying you up again, or are you just going to get free as soon as my back’s turned?”

“You can tie me up anytime you wish, my dear Warden,” he leered.

For the second time, Elissa regretted not killing him when she had the opportunity. Somehow she doubted it was going to be the last time.

 

* * *

 

The snows got worse as they travelled further west, and once again Elissa’s mood dropped considerably the longer they walked. But where she fought hunger and fatigue as they made for Denerim almost a month prior, she now faced constant reminders of home as the highway wound through the southernmost reaches of Highever’s territory.

She could be there in just under a day if she cut across the country the same way she had with Duncan when they escaped the night of the attack. But would Howe even be there? Without knowing for certain that he was, and that she could reach him before she was caught or killed herself, she couldn’t justify taking the time for such a detour.

Most nights once their camp was set up she retreated to her tent as soon as she finished her supper. Alistair or Leliana or even Wynne would come to check on her or to let her know when it was time for her watch, but other than that they mostly left her alone. Even Zevran finally realized that his teasing wasn’t a game she would tolerate and after a few days he left her alone as well.

It was perhaps their tenth or eleventh night since leaving Denerim when she woke up thrashing violently and screaming bloody murder. Before Elissa was even fully aware, her cries devolved into heavy sobs. Moira huddled at the far edge of the tent, whining and pawing at the canvas. She didn’t notice the sudden icy blast as the tent flap came free and the hound bolted out; she barely even noticed the body that settled down beside her. When a strong arm draped itself over her and pulled her close she tensed, then relaxed just a bit as she realized it was Alistair. She finally cried herself to sleep again as he held her there, staying with her the rest of the night.

To say that they got curious looks from the others the next morning was an understatement, and nearly every look said something different from the last. Morrigan looked on them with something between disinterest and disgust. Leliana hovered somewhere between amusement and concern. Sten acknowledged them, but was otherwise unreadable. Wynne clearly disapproved. Zevran dramatically mimed having his heart broken when he finally saw them, but winked at her when he was certain Alistair couldn’t see.

They packed and broke down their tents as quickly as they could, and Morrigan excused herself before they finished to go on ahead. From what she had told them the night before the lake was slightly less than a day away, so she was venturing ahead to ensure no traps lay before them. Elissa kept meaning to ask the witch how she covered so much ground when scouting out ahead of them, but the opportunity never presented itself.

“My dear Elissa,” Zevran approached her as she gathered the last of her things. “If you are thinking that perhaps there could be trouble at this settlement, perhaps I should have my weapons back now, hm? If I had still planned to kill you, I could have done so many times over.”

He had a point. While only Leliana actually seemed to welcome him, with the exception of keeping him unarmed (as well as not letting him cook) he had taken on the same roles as any of the others. He carried just as much as the rest of them in the day, and at night he split the chores of setting up the tents and keeping watch the same as the rest of them did.

“And what’s to keep you from betraying me in a week or a month, the way you claim to have abandoned your contract on us?”

Zevran sighed, and for once it didn’t sound like it was for show. “I know that it must seem otherwise from your perspective, but I am a very loyal man. Yes, my loyalty is to whoever pays me, but the same is true for many in this world.”

“Yet here you are,” she pointed out.

“That, my dear, is because the Crows have nothing more to pay me except what I can hope will be a swift death. You, on the other hand, have spared my life when you were not required to do so. You will excuse me if I find your employment more preferable to that of the Crows.”

Elissa chewed at her lip, thinking. “You do realize that following us is just as likely to kill you, right? We aren’t just traipsing around for fun. This ends with the Archdemon.”

“I presumed that was your ultimate goal, yes.”

“Fine,” she finally shook her head, grabbing up his weapons and tossing them his way. “You’ve had your one chance though, Zevran. Attack us again and you’ll die before you have the chance to yield.”

_“Entiendo, señorita.”_

 

* * *

 

Morrigan reported back to Elissa around lunchtime that there was no trouble that she could detect waiting for them in the village, so they agreed to continue to the small inn near the waterfront and begin to ask after Genitivi in the morning. But as they approached the first squat little houses Sten stopped and fell back, looking south into the distance. Nodding to Alistair to continue with the others, she joined Sten.

“Something on your mind?”

“It was here.”

She glanced south, but saw nothing. “What was here?”

“My beresaad. It was here that we were set upon by the darkspawn. They came out of the ground like wraiths, killing all that moved. I was struck unconscious; the beasts assumed me dead. When I came to I was with on the farm outside Lothering.”

“You never told me what happened there, why you killed that family,” she said quietly.

Sten was silent a long while. “When I awoke, I asked the farmer about my men, but he had no information. I sought my sword, that I could begin the search for survivors, but it was gone. I lashed out. It was wrong; I knew that family had nothing to do with my sword or my men, but I killed them regardless.”

“Because of your sword?”

He nodded. “A qunari warrior’s sword is his soul. Were I to return to Seheron without it, I would be immediately known as a deserter and sentenced to death.”

“Maraas asala,” she whispered.

“Indeed.”

They both stared into the distance, neither speaking. “We’ll ask in the village about it,” she finally replied. “I can’t guarantee we’ll find it, but I can promise that we’ll try.”

 

* * *

 

Elissa and Sten rejoined the others in the village tavern, and she took a seat on bench next to Alistair, kissing him on one cheek as she sat. He was already eating, and she smiled as she lifted a chunk of bread from his plate for herself.

“Hey, that was mine!” he protested. “There’s more coming for you later.” He tried to reach for it but she hopped up and out of his way.

She grinned. “Too slow.” He gave up, and she returned to her seat. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Upstairs,” he replied between bites. “Leliana wanted to inspect the rooms before paying for them. Knowing her she could be looking for traps, or bed bugs, or Maker knows what else. Personally, I’d take bugs if it meant not sleeping in the snow for one night.”

“You already paid, didn’t you?” she smirked.

“All three available rooms. Wynne said she’s going to go back to the tower after supper to check on the mages, so that leaves two to a room.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “With Wynne going back to the Tower, that leaves us with three men and three women. Who’s sharing the third room?”

“I didn’t think about that,” he admitted, then brightened. “We could put Morrigan and Zevran in there! He’d drive her crazy, and then she’d turn him into a toad for us.”

“What is it with you and the toad thing?”

“Didn’t you know? First thing they teach you in templar school.” He stopped and took a drink from a flagon of ale, then made a face. “Ugh! Don’t drink that stuff.”

“Well, as tempting as it is to set Morrigan on him, that’s probably not the best idea. Sten has the patience of a golem, Zevran can stay with him.”

“Maker, please don’t put me with Morrigan. I don’t want to be a toad.”

“You know that she’s not going to turn you into a toad, Alistair.”

“Nope, not taking that chance.”

Elissa pretended to sigh. “I guess you’ll just have to stay with me, then. Unless you think the innkeep will refund one of the rooms, and we can split three to a room instead.”

He blushed and she laughed lightly, reaching over him and taking the ale. She took a sip and barely resisted the urge to spit it out again. “Maker, that _is_ horrible!”

“Told you,” he laughed.

She stole another bit of his bread to try and wash the taste of the ale out her mouth. “I’m going to go see if I can find a bath before bed. I won’t be long, so it should be safe for you to come up in half an hour or so.”

Alistair was choking as she climbed the stairs to the upper floor.

 

* * *

 

Elissa rose early the next morning and smiled as Alistair reached over and hugged the pillow she had used that night. He mumbled something in his sleep as she pulled on her boots, sitting up groggily when he realized she was gone.

“Go back to sleep,” she smiled. “I’m just going to go downstairs and see about breakfast.”

She closed the door gently behind her and carefully went downstairs. Morrigan sat at a table in the corner of the great room, reading as she ate a bowl of thin porridge. The witch scowled at the pages, swearing and scribbling notes in a journal periodically.

Morrigan glanced up as Elissa approached, and pointed toward the kitchen with her quill. “There is more gruel in the pot by the fire. I prepared enough for everyone, though I doubt you and Alistair will leave much behind for anyone else.”

Elissa went to the kitchen and searched for a bowl and spoon. She finally found them and scooped a large portion of the gruel into the bowl. She returned to the common room and sat opposite Morrigan to eat in silence.

“I must admit, girl, I was pleasantly surprised not to be kept up to all hours last night,” the witch finally commented, almost to herself.

“Excuse me?” Elissa choked.

Morrigan looked up from her study of the heavy book before her. “Oh? Even more surprising. I knew Alistair was disgustingly pure, but I figured you’d have cured him of that by now.”

Flushing, Elissa busied herself with her breakfast as Morrigan continued, unnoticing. “As for other matters, this grimoire of Flemeth’s you found me is most intriguing. Not at all what I expected and somewhat troubling, but intriguing nonetheless.”

“Troubling how?”

The witch had turned back to the tome before her. “I can’t be certain yet, Flemeth’s cyphers are much more difficult to decrypt than I had anticipated. I will double check my translations before I trouble you with it; it is possible that I am wrong.”

“Just let me know if there’s anything useful, I suppose,” Elissa replied as she emptied her bowl and stood. “I’ll go start waking the others, so that we can find out about the Brother and get going again.”

She stopped by the kitchen before heading back upstairs, refilling the bowl. Elissa had long since learned that Alistair was easier to wake at any given time if she brought food along. Letting herself back into their room she grinned when she saw him still hugging the pillow, and the memory of the dream she had in the tower a month and a half before returned to her.

 _Perhaps I can have both lives._ She sat on the edge of the bed and tousled his hair a bit until he stirred. “Brought you breakfast.”

He stretched and sat up eagerly, but then his face fell when he saw the bowl.

“Gruel?”

Elissa considered this a moment. “Think of it as soupy porridge instead,” she suggested.

“Gruel’s still gruel, Lissa,” he mumbled as he took the bowl and started to eat gloomily.

She leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead. “We’ll find you some good sharp cheddar before we leave. I’ll be back in a bit; I’m going to go check on Leliana and the others.”

Alistair nodded as he emptied the bowl, and since he had finished it she went ahead and took it from him before leaving. Pulling the door behind her, she crossed the hall to another door and knocked quietly, but received no answer. Frowning, she moved to the next door and knocked there as well, but again there was no response.

Wondering if the others were already downstairs she went back to the kitchen to dispose of her bowl and spoon. The innkeeper now moved about in the kitchen, and he took the bowl and spoon from her when she entered. She thanked him as he took them from her and started to wash them clean.

“I’m sorry to intrude, ser, but did you have a moment?”

The man jumped a bit; he must have assumed she’d left the room. “What can I get for you, miss?”

“I was hoping to meet another friend of mine here last night,” she lied, “but he never showed. I was wondering if maybe he’d been here and gone before we arrived.”

He shrugged as he returned to his work. “People come and go from here all the time. Friend got a name?”

“Genitivi. He’s a scholar with the Chantry in Denerim.”

Elissa startled as the innkeeper dropped the plates he had been holding and they all shattered. She bent down to help clean the mess once she recovered, but the man hurried away.

“D- don’t know no Genitivi, miss,” he apologized, pretending to busy himself with something at the far side of the room. “You and y- your friends, though, said you were goin’ round the lake and into the mountains, didn’t you? ’Course you did. You’ll need a good month of supplies heading that way.”

“Of course,” she began, narrowing her eyes as she watched him scurry about the kitchen and in and out of the larder. “I don’t suppose you’d know any inns along the way my friends and I could use, do you?”

He fidgeted a few moments, then checked that all the dirty little windows were latched, pulling a tattered cloth over each of them. “There’s a river maybe forty miles south of Gherlen’s Pass, miss, comes right down out of the mountains. Supposed to be a village up that way, but I hear the locals aren’t too kind too strangers. Only inn I know of between Orzammar and Rainesfere would be ‘round there.”

Elissa nodded in acknowledgement and fished out a few coins. “How much for enough food to get my friends and I to this village, and then back to Redcliffe afterwards?”

The innkeeper quoted her a figure and she paid him without argument. Returning to the great room while he gathered enough food for them she found most everyone sitting around, eating their breakfast and checking their packs.

“Wynne sent a messenger,” Leliana informed her as she sat with Alistair and the bard. “We are to continue on when ready, while she remains at the Circle.”

“Good. I told her back in Redcliffe we needed her at the tower helping the mages prepare and she wouldn’t listen to me.” Elissa stretched, glancing about the room as she did so. There didn’t appear to be anyone outside their group here.

“I spoke to the innkeeper a few moments ago. He said there’s a village in the mountains a bit south of Gherlen’s Pass. He wouldn’t come out and say that’s where Genitivi went, but it seems to be what he was implying.”

Alistair finished off a bit of cheese. “Anything else?”

“Just that the innkeeper is preparing food for us to take with,” she replied. “Wait, where are Zevran and Sten?”

“Sten apparently went out before any of us were awake, not sure what for.” Alistair grinned evilly then. “Zevran looked like death warmed over when he came downstairs, though. I didn’t think he’d even drank anything last night, but he’s certainly hung over today.”

Leliana giggled a bit and Elissa gave them each a long, questioning look. “So where’d he go?”

“My guess is for a swim in the lake,” the Orlesian woman smirked. “I hear that works quite well for delicate times such as these.”

“Leliana, what did you do?”

Her friend shrugged innocently. “I thought perhaps our Antivan friend looked fatigued, like he was not getting enough rest. So I whipped up some medicine for him with some herbs I found in the kitchen.”

“You drugged him?”

“It was a kindness,” she sniffed indignantly. “Had I not, Sten would have surely seen to it that Zevran slept through the night, and Wynne is too busy to be called from the tower to mend broken bones.”

Elissa slumped over the table, groaning. It would have been so much easier if she’d killed the elf when she had the chance, instead of sparing his life.


	14. Tooth and Bone

Those who oppose thee  
Shall know the wrath of heaven.  
Field and forest shall burn,  
The seas shall rise and devour them,  
The wind shall tear their nations  
From the face of the earth,  
Lightning shall rain down from the sky,  
They shall cry out to their false gods,  
And find silence.  
 _-Andraste 7:19_

 

Sten and Zevran rejoined them at the edge of the village, and the Antivan was blessedly quiet the entire first day that they were on the road. The second day he was more animated, but he was no longer as obnoxious as he’d been prior to the night at the inn.

Since Zevran had joined them they’d been swapping out who used which tent in camp most nights in a sort of round robin arrangement, but with Wynne remaining at Kinloch Hold they had an extra tent that he could use instead. Elissa almost wished that either the mage was still traveling with them, or that Wynne had taken her tent with her by mistake; if either of those had happened, Elissa could have given up her own tent and doubled up with Leliana—or even Alistair.

 _That_ would be interesting, since in spite of how embarrassed as she was whenever anyone brought it up, she was starting to get frustrated with his constant chivalry. Granted, Elissa hadn’t outright thrown herself at him, but she’d assumed that something would have happened back at the inn on Lake Calenhad. But no, he was a perfect gentleman the entire time, and it was driving her crazy.

The first few days were relatively uneventful as they rounded the north end of the lake before beginning their way south. It hadn’t snowed in quite a few days, so while the road was a slushy, muddy mess, at least they didn’t have to fight the weather itself. They made decent time to Gherlen’s pass—only three days in all. The nights were still freezing, though, and Elissa set up her tent as close to the fire as she safely could each night.

She sat huddled by the fire now with Moira, waiting for her watch to be over so she could wake Leliana and get back to bed herself. One of the logs popped loudly and both the mabari and her mistress startled at the sound. Elissa scratched at the dog’s ear to reassure her but froze when she heard another crack, this time ahead of them somewhere on beyond the fire’s light. Moira started to growl low in her throat.

When she heard shuffling off to her left she got up and crept over to Alistair’s tent and drew back the canvas flap. He stirred when the cold air rushed in and she shushed him as she reached for his scabbard and passed it to him silently. He seemed to realize what she meant as he took it and nodded, so she ducked back out of the tent and seeing her hound she gestured toward Morrigan and Sten’s tents. The mabari loped her way to one tent and then the other while Elissa moved to Leliana and Zevran’s tents to alert them as well.

The elf joined her by the fire, but the others remained out of sight as they waited for the attack to come.

“Whoever this is creeping up, they are quite unskilled, no?” he asked quietly as he warmed his hands.

“It would seem so,” she agreed. “But that’s not such a bad thing, considering.”

“That is true, but it makes things quite dull to know when a strike is coming. There is no excitement in sitting and waiting.”

An arrow rushed passed them and Elissa and the Antivan pulled their weapons finally, him scanning the direction the arrow came from and her watching the other side. There was nothing.

Zevran stood tapping his boot impatiently for a few moments. “Hello?” he finally called into the darkness.

“What are you-?”

“So you see, my friend and I are quite aware that you are out there waiting to attack us, and you were even kind enough to send us a hello by way of that shot a few moments ago. It was quite kind of you to announce yourselves in such a way, but it is quite cold tonight and I would rather get this fight done with so I can get back to my bed.”

Silence.

“Then again, I understand if you have decided to reconsider your actions, as if you attack us we will most certainly kill you.”

There were the faintest of footsteps in the snow behind her, and Zevran casually leaned to Elissa. “There is one about fifty paces behind us. He does not know it yet, but Morrigan is twenty paces beyond. Two are in the trees to the left, and one more ahead.”

“You’re certain it’s just the four?” she whispered back, straining to see the men she knew were there.

“ _Positiva_. We have just to draw them into the open and you and I will have this over before our friends have time to reveal themselves.”

Two more arrows flew passed them and stuck harmlessly into the ground behind them and Zevran laughed.

“That is honestly the best you can do?” he taunted the hidden archer. “I could shoot straighter when I was in my mother’s womb!”

The man charged furiously into the light finally, tossing his bow aside and drawing a massive sword. Zevran deflected him easily, passing him back to Elissa and switching his focus to the two men that had previously hidden to their left as they tried to join the first.

To call what happened around them a fight would have been a joke. Their first attacker rushed at her like a rabid beast might and she made a quick cut to his bare arm as she dodged. He rounded to make another pass, and this time instead of sidestepping around him Elissa held her ground and braced her weight as he came at her, her sword held low. At the last moment she raised the tip of her blade upward, sinking it through the furs he wore instead of armor and up through his heart. His momentum carried him and drove the sword deeper; releasing the hilt she dove forward and under him, rolling to her feet as he fell behind her.

Elissa reached for her dagger and sought her next target, then realized the fight was already over. Morrigan eliminated the man that had been creeping behind them, and Zevran had dispatched both of the last two in the time she finished her own. Zevran had been right. Perhaps it would have taken them a moment longer if Morrigan hadn’t claimed the fourth kill, but between the three of them the others had barely gotten out of their tents before all the attackers were dead.

Turning over their first attacker she retrieved her sword and wiped the gore from it. Noticing a strange medallion, she reached down cut its cord with her knife and held it up to the dim light of their campfire. She couldn’t identify its material, but carved into it was a crude depiction of Andraste’s flaming blade. She passed it to Alistair when he joined her, and one by one it was passed throughout their group.

“What’s it made of?” she wondered aloud as each of them inspected it in turn. “It’s not stone-wood or bone, but I can’t think of anything else that looks similar.”

Morrigan was the last to take it. “Dragon’s tooth,” she declared immediately, turning it over in her hands. “Flemeth had many tools and trinkets of the stuff. A terrible headache to craft, but equally useful. There is nothing that a blade made of dragon’s tooth or bone cannot sever.”

Zevran shook his head. “My dark enchantress, you must be mistaken. It is well known that the Nevarrans eliminated the dragons many ages ago.”

“That’s not true,” Leliana replied. “Our current age is named for a dragon that rose from the Frostbacks the same year that King Maric drove Meghren and the chevaliers from Ferelden.”

The Antivan gave Elissa a questioning look, and she nodded. “It was first seen shortly before the battle at River Dane. Both armies took it to be an omen of their coming victory, until it turned to the western slopes of the Frostback Mountains and burned much of the Orlesian countryside.”

“ _Mierda._ You’ll pardon me, dear Warden, but if there is a dragon in those mountains then I am a roast nug.”

“Believe what you want, Zevran. In the meantime I’m going to pray that you’re right.”

 

* * *

 

There were no further attacks as they continued over the next several days toward the river the inn keeper described, but the snow returned two nights after the fight and it slowed their progress considerably. The altitude increased steadily as they followed the trail that lined the icy waters, and between the cold and the elevation, Elissa felt like she was struggling for every breath.

Getting to the river from Gherlen’s Pass and a slight ways along it had taken just two days; reaching the village at the top end of the little valley took nearly two more weeks. They were only able to hike for a few hours each day before they had to stop and scout out a place to camp that was sufficiently sheltered from the elements. They found caves whenever they could and combined their tent canvases to form a sort of hanging door over the cave mouths. Other times they found groves where the trees had sheltered the ground from the worst of the snow.

Regardless of where they camped everyone quickly began to remain much closer together than they usually did. The most striking difference was that Morrigan no longer separated herself from the others, but overall they all huddled together, layering and sharing blankets when necessary for extra warmth.

Sten stopped her finally on the last morning before they reached the village. “I have trusted your leadership this far, Warden, but why do you waste our time with this foolish mission? Should you not be focusing on slaying the Archdemon?”

“It was foolish when Isolde sent Redcliffe’s knights out in search of the urn of Andraste’s ashes to heal her husband of his poisoning. If we had the support of the army it would be foolish for us to hunt the urn ourselves. We don’t have that support, though, and we won’t get it unless we can find some miracle to cure the Arl.”

Sten considered this. “If you are unable to cure this Arl, does your effort then become foolish?”

“Regardless of if it works or not, the situation is desperate. If this doesn’t work, we’ll have to find some other option to face the horde. But if it does, and Alistair and I are also able to convince both King Aeducan in Orzammar and the Dalish to honor their treaties with the Wardens, we’ll have a force large enough to challenge the horde before it spreads beyond Ferelden and on to the rest of the world.”

“A gangrenous wound requires that the limb that carries it be removed, Warden. This Blight is a plague on your land, and you must be prepared to sever the arm that the body can live.”

“Alistair and I won’t let it come to that.”


	15. Aura of Pain

And so we burned. We raised nations, we waged wars,  
We dreamed up false gods, great demons  
Who could cross the Veil into the waking world,  
Turned our devotion upon them, and forgot you.  
 _-Threnodies 1:8_

 

The village itself seemed to be largely abandoned. There was no answer at any of the doors they tried, but a song wafted down from somewhere further up the mountain. Leliana stopped to listen at one point, silently mouthing words as she tried to follow along with the distant melody. Elissa paused to listen as well and frowned.

“That’s not the Chant, is it?” she finally asked the bard, who nodded in reply.

“There are verses I do not recognize, and the cadence is different in some areas, but I believe it is.”

The others listened for a moment, and Alistair brightened. “Well, if they’re singing the Chant, at least that means we know where everyone is. We just need to keep going, find the Chantry, and ask the Revered Mother about Brother Genitivi.”

“Assuming we’re even in the right place,” Elissa pointed out.

He counted on his fingers quietly for a little while as they continued up the mountain and suddenly swore. When everyone turned to look at him, he flushed and wouldn’t make eye contact.

“Sorry, I just realized today is Tuesday, is all. I never did get the hang of Tuesdays.”

Elissa gave him a quizzical look before starting back up the path to the next level of the village. The sound of the Chant was much clearer here, and up yet another hill they could see the Chantry itself. The building was less decrepit than the others they’d seen, but still the glass in many of the windows was broken and instead of being replaced the windows were instead boarded up from the inside. A long patio of sorts lined the front of the building, but the roof hanging over it was largely rotted away and provided no shelter from the snow. Yellow smoke rose lazily from a chimney toward the back.

As they approached the verses of the Chant trailed off gradually. Elissa carefully led the way up the steps and cracked the door. A Brother was leading a sermon at the far end of the hall; a group of parishioners knelt before him. Elissa registered this, but her attention was focused on the four armed men posted between the Brother and the altar behind him.

No one in the room acknowledged their presence as the service continued for several minutes. Finally the priest made eye contact with Elissa and finished his blessings. The parishioners rose, but did not leave. Instead they parted slightly so the visitors could approach, and then closed ranks behind them again.

“Ah… welcome,” he greeted them pleasantly. “I heard we had a visitor wandering about the village. I trust you’ve enjoyed your time in Haven so far?”

Elissa eyed the armed men behind him wearily. “To be honest, ser, aside from your Chantry here we’ve found nothing but locked doors. Please excuse my ignorance, but why does a brother of the faith require armed guards?”

The woman nearest to Elissa stiffened in fury. “Brother of the faith?! You show some respect, Lowlander. You’re speaking with Revered Father Eirik, First of Her chosen!”

Eirik waved the woman away calmly, and as she retreated Elissa noticed the amulet she was wearing—nearly identical to the one she’d retrieved off one of their attackers near Gherlen’s Pass. Glancing at each of the others around them, she realized they all wore similar medallions, including Eirik, though rather than bone his was stamped in bronze and garishly ornate.

“Nice necklace,” she complimented the woman almost casually. “Funny thing, though, I swear it looks _just_ like one a man that tried to kill me a few weeks ago wore.” She paused when one of the guards let his hand inch toward his sword. “You would know nothing of that though, I’m sure.”

She leveled her gaze on the priest. “Am I correct, Brother Eirik?”

“We don’t owe you any explanations for our actions,” he sneered. “We have a sacred duty; failure to protect Her would be a greater sin.”

Eirik bowed his head reverently as the four men behind him and many of the villagers drew weapons. The guards moved forward to surround him protectively, and Elissa and her companions unsheathed their own blades just as the first of the villagers struck.

For the most part they were as amateur as the men at Gherlen’s Pass. They swung their weapons in wide arcs that left gaping holes in their defenses, but no matter how many times they were struck they never fell, constantly rejuvenated by some unknown source.

“Warden!” she heard Morrigan call, and glancing at the witch she realized the woman was bound in place, a strange rune glowing at her feet. Morrigan struggled against the ward to point in Eirik’s direction, and as she turned Elissa realized the priest now stood beyond his armed guards, casting spells of healing on his people as they fought.

Catching Alistair’s attention she gestured toward the priest by the altar. He nodded in confirmation and began to cut his way in that direction, bashing with his shield anyone who avoided his initial strikes. Elissa followed close behind, and as he cleared the third of the guards and moved to the fourth, she moved on Eirik.

Realizing his danger the priest cast a rune identical to the one binding Morrigan at Elissa’s feet and she froze in mid-step, but Alistair had already finished the final guard and slammed his shield in Eirik’s face. The priest’s eyes glazed as he fell, the runes holding Elissa and Morrigan fading, and there was a sickening crack as his skull made contact with the altar. Few of the villagers still lived, but those that did immediately fled.

Free of the magic that held her, Elissa put away her weapons and inspected Eirik’s body. Somewhere between the fight and his fall the man’s neck had broken and his head hung at an impossible angle as blood pooled beneath it from where his skull hit the altar.

“What ‘her’ do you think he was talking about?” Alistair asked, kneeling beside her as she inspected the bronze medallion that Eirik wore.

“I don’t know,” she frowned, cutting the leather cord and retrieving the amulet to study it more closely. “Normally I might say it was some sort of metaphor for Andraste, but he seemed to be speaking a bit more literally than that.”

The front of the amulet bore the same symbol of Andraste as the ones the villagers wore; the back of it was carved in an intricate geometric pattern, the ridges of the design thick and precise.

Elissa traced outline with her thumb absently as she stood again and surveyed the room. Something was out of place, but she couldn’t tell what she was overlooking. Finally her eyes fell on the northern wall, just to the right of the altar.

“Outside, didn’t the building go further in that direction than it does in here?” she asked eventually.

Leliana and Zevran began to inspect the wall from the opposite ends and after just a moment found a hidden door behind one of the heavy tapestries. The elf made quick work of the lock and swung the door open, stepping aside and holding back the tapestry so the others could enter.

Numerous shelves lined the walls of the chamber, and where books would not fit on the shelves they were in stacks and piles on the floor. Elissa was about to leave again when she heard a weak cough from one of the back corners of the room.

“They’ve sent you to finish it?” a man asked calmly but weakly when she rounded the back-most bookshelf to find him. The man’s arms were bound, but not his feet; Elissa realized with a sick feeling that one of his legs was covered in blood and was bent at an unnatural angle. Nearby lay a crumpled set of the over-robes of a brother of the cathedral in Denerim.

“Leliana!” she called, rushing to him and digging through her pack for any potions and poultices she could find. Finding a small vial she uncorked it and pressed it to the man’s lips, forcing him to drink. As she did, her friend was already testing the broken leg gingerly, shaking her head when Elissa looked questioningly.

“It is shattered in too many places,” the bard explained. “If it were a more simple break, I could probably set the bone and splint it, at least until we could get him out of these mountains and find a healer. But as it is, there is nothing I can do.”

“So you aren’t here to kill me? Did the Arlessa send you, then?” he asked, his eyes growing increasingly distant with the effects of the medicine.

“Yes, ser, she did. You’re Brother Genitivi?”

He nodded drowsily. “You can’t know how glad I am to see someone who isn’t from this village. I…” He began doze off, then shook himself awake again.

“No, I don’t have time to rest now,” he insisted, mostly to himself. “I’m so close. The Urn is just up that mountain!”

Instinctively, Elissa glanced upward to the rafters. For well over a thousand years the Urn of Sacred Ashes was pure myth; the thought that it could be both real and so close was hard to fathom.

Morrigan joined them and also inspected Genitivi’s leg. “Do not be foolish, man. Your leg is destroyed, and you will be climbing no mountain.”

“But I must go!” he protested weakly. “There is a key that must be used to access the temple, and trials that protect the Urn!”

Leliana gave Morrigan the briefest of glares before trying to calm him. “What sort of key, Brother?”

He watched Morrigan suspiciously for a long while before answering her. “The priest here wears a medallion that fits into a special slot near the temple’s door. Access to the temple is impossible without it.”

“You mean this one?” Elissa asked, pulling out and handing him the amulet she took from Eirik.

“Yes, that is your key,” he finally nodded after staring blankly at it for a few moments. “Take me to the mountainside, and I will show you.”

Frowning, Elissa shook her head. “Absolutely not. Morrigan’s right, the mountain is no place for you.”

She stood and crossed to one of the few windows in the room that was whole and not blocked by bookshelves. The sun was already setting, and the gathering clouds hung too low for her liking.

“We’ll all stay here tonight,” she decided. “And you can teach me whatever I need to know to get through that temple. Then in the morning a handful of us will go up the mountain, and the others will stay here to keep you safe. If we haven’t returned after a certain time, then they’ll take you back to Redcliffe and find you a healer. Once you’re whole you can come back again if you wish.”

Genitivi tried to protest, but she left him with Leliana and began to work with Alistair and the others to clear the bodies and make the Chantry habitable for the night.

 

* * *

 

Elissa stood before the entrance to the temple early the next morning with Alistair, Morrigan, and Zevran and studied the carvings on the door carefully, looking for the latch Genitivi had said would reveal the door’s lock. After resting a bit, the Brother had drawn detailed sketches of the temple’s layout and of various mechanisms and locks they could expect to encounter within.

She compared one of these sketches to the door before her now and traced a finger along one of the carvings. Finding the catch she pulled it gently and a compartment opened to reveal more patterns in the stone. Elissa pressed the medallion she took from Eirik’s body into the indentation and twisted it sunwise three-quarters of a full turn. The door’s main release gave a loud _clack_ and the door itself cracked and stood ajar.

Genitivi’s maps detailed what he referred to as the outer complex and the caverns. According to him, there were actually two temples—the one here near the base of the mountain that was opened by the medallion, and another far above the first. Between the two lay a sprawling complex of tunnels cut into the mountain itself, which opened out to what had once been a grand courtyard leading into the inner complex. Unfortunately, the Brother had little to no information on the second temple; he knew only that an unknown series of trials waited within its walls.

With help from Alistair she managed to swing the entry wide enough that they could enter and cautiously led the way inside. Even in its ruined state, the grandeur of the hall was breathtaking. Intricately carved columns extended high overhead, with delicate appearing arches stretching between them to add stability to the structure. The hall itself was many times larger than any structure she’d ever set foot in, even the massive cathedral in Cumberland. A grand staircase dominated the furthest reaches of the room, framing the smoldering firepit in the center of the chamber as miniature rainbows danced off the errant ice crystals in the air.

Elissa suddenly regretting asking Leliana to stay behind with Sten to take care of Brother Genitivi this morning. Whatever history her friend may have had as a bard in Orlais—or perhaps because of that history—she was an intensely faithful woman and would have been overwhelmed by not only the majesty of the temple but the peacefulness of it as well.

Her attention was drawn back to the embers in the firepit and she realized that the temple could not be unoccupied. Reluctantly she drew her weapons as she began to lead the way across the hall, her eyes everywhere at once: the top of the grand stair, the two small corridors extending to each side of the main hall, and the dozens of shadows between the columns and collected snow drifts.

As she began to climb the stair they all heard voices far in the distance. They paused to listen a few moments; there seemed to be more than one group of villagers ahead somewhere. Zevran notched an arrow silently and gave Elissa an inquisitive look. When she nodded he ghosted ahead of them and positioned himself where he could see the villagers while still able to see back to her. He gestured back in her direction.

_Three groups. Between three and five men each. All distracted. Eliminating nearest now._

Elissa was slightly surprised to realize that she understood all this. Oriana had tried teaching her the Antivan hand language at the same time she taught Elissa to speak Antivan, but she’d never really gotten the hang of it. She quickly translated for Alistair and Morrigan. While he readied his sword and shield the witch positioned herself opposite of where Zevran loosed his arrows on the first group and waited for her own turn to strike.

The elf had ducked behind his cover again before the bodies of his victims hit the icy floor. Alistair and Elissa finally climbed the stair, showing themselves just as the remaining villagers realized their comrades were dead. There were nine total, and they charged the two Wardens, none of them seeming to grasp that their dead had sprouted feathers from their chests while neither of the two intruders they saw wore a bow.

As they passed Morrigan in her hiding spot she stepped out behind them, her eyes shut in concentration and her arms tracing patterns in the air before her. The witch finally released the power she had conjured and a towering column of flame rose from the floor between her and Elissa, engulfing the men and burning them alive.

A single man escaped from the center of the inferno and he charged at Alistair, his massive claymore held in both hands over his head. The templar blocked the blow with his raised shield, and Elissa began to move into position to strike from behind. She sprinted to the warrior with her dagger reversed in her off hand and ready to sink it between his shoulder blades when suddenly she collapsed, clutching at her heart and screaming in pain.

Her momentum carried her forward and into the man’s legs as she fell, and as he rounded on her briefly she realized his eyes were like blood and they practically glowed in rage. She was so terrified she couldn’t even defend herself as he lifted his blade to strike out at her, but Alistair placed himself between them in time and took the brunt of the blow with his shield.

Alistair fought the crazed man back away from her gradually. He began a wide backhand swing, and just before his blade struck the man crystalized into a solid block of ice. Already in motion, the sword swept through the sudden statue, and the man shattered into a thousand jagged shards.

Elissa still lay crumpled on the ground, delirious as she sobbed in pain. Morrigan got to her just ahead of Alistair and forced to her lie flat while the witch examined her.

“What hit her?” the witch finally demanded of Alistair.

“I- I don’t kn-”

Scowling as she waved him back, Morrigan dug out numerous potions from her knapsack. She considered the vials before her and snatched up a number of them, stowing the rest in her bag again.

“Get me all the medicine vials Elissa had in her packs,” she ordered the men. As they dug through not only Elissa’s pack but also their own for all the medicines they could find, Morrigan pulled Elissa to where she was half sitting, clutching now at her stomach as well as her chest.

The witch began slowly feeding Elissa the potions one at a time. When her own were exhausted she considered the containers Alistair and Zevran retrieved. She selected over half of them and began pressing each of these to Elissa’s lips, forcing her to drain each one. Gradually she relaxed, and her sobs trailed off as she slept.

 

* * *

 

Elissa woke to find herself on a crude cot and tucked under a mountain of blankets. There was no light to see by, and as she tried to sit up she was gently but firmly pressed back into place.

“You’re not well enough to move yet,” a rich female voice advised her softly.

“Morrigan? What’s happened?”

The cot shifted a bit as Morrigan sat on its edge. “We are in a barracks of sorts, in an antechamber of the temple. You collapsed in the battle; by your reaction I thought perhaps you were struck with some sort of blood magic, but none of the men we killed were mages.”

She remembered the pain then and instinctively her hand went to her belly, searching for a wound. She then shot up in panic, struggling against Morrigan’s attempts to press her back to the cot and rest.

“Where’s everyone else?” she breathed, almost in tears. “Alistair, is he-”

Morrigan brushed her fingers across Elissa’s forehead and the younger woman fell silent, staring blankly into the dark for a moment. “Your love is safe, Warden, or as safe as any of us are. Whatever the warrior you faced did to you, Alistair seems to be immune to the effect. He and Zevran are clearing the temple now, so that we can continue once you are rested.”

Elissa allowed Morrigan to lay her back and tuck the blankets around her again. The fog that had come over her was just beginning to clear when she heard Morrigan murmuring a spell, and then the Warden was again asleep.

It was morning when she awoke again, and she smiled in relief when she saw Alistair sleeping on the lower half of a double bunk to her left; even asleep his face was etched with concern. Glancing around a moment she noticed a dark arm hanging over the edge of the upper level of Alistair’s bunk, but the cot to her right was empty. Sitting up slowly she saw the witch not far away, tending a small fire in the room’s hearth.

Morrigan must have heard her stir, for she turned and raised one finger to her lips before pointing toward the sleeping men. Elissa quietly got out of the bed and crossed to where the witch was keeping the fire strong enough to warm them, but small enough to limit the volume of smoke rising up the chimney.

“Are they going to be alright?” she asked quietly as she sat near the fire herself.

Morrigan nodded. “They are exhausted, is all. I thought to let them sleep a while before preparing breakfast; if I start to cook the bacon now your fool will wake too soon, and will not be at his best.”

“You aren’t nearly the bitch you pretend to be, you know,” Elissa smirked at her suddenly. “You have an attitude, certainly, but really not too much worse than I would get at my worst, back home when I could afford to be a brat if I felt like it.”

“Repeat those words where anyone can hear you, and I’ll turn you into the toad that Alistair’s so afraid of,” Morrigan spat, though not with her usual venom. She almost looked worried more than she did offended, and Elissa had to resist the urge to laugh as the witch’s gaze fell on Alistair and Zevran as if making certain they had not heard.

Still smiling slightly she got up to retrieve her main pack, digging through it for some dried fruit she had hidden in a small pocket near the bottom. The bag was significantly lighter than she remembered it being, and she frowned. “What happened to all my medicines?”

“Not just your own, but most of the medicines we had with us. I am no healer, and I had to improvise when you fell.” Morrigan fell quiet for a moment before continuing. “You were only near the man a few moments, but when I reached you? You seemed near death, yet you had no wounds. I did the only thing I knew.”

Elissa didn’t know how to respond, and so they both were silent for a while. Alistair mumbled something in his sleep behind them and she frowned.

“He doesn’t know how bad it was, does he?” she finally asked quietly.

Morrigan shook her head. “He is enough trouble for me when you are here to control him. I needed him focused enough to be able to clear out any other groups hidden here in the temple while you recovered, so I told him it was merely the medicines that were affecting you so.”

On an impulse Elissa reached forward and hugged Morrigan close. The witch froze for a moment, unsure how to react, before briefly returning the embrace.

“Thank you, Morrigan.”


	16. Cult of Andraste

These truths the Maker has revealed to me:  
As there is but one world,   
One life, one death, there is   
But one god, and He is our Maker.  
They are sinners, who have given their love  
To false gods.

_-Transfigurations 1:1_

 

In spite of a full day passing since Elissa’s collapse, with the exception of a handful of corpses—the result of Alistair and Zevran’s efforts the day before—the temple remained empty as the elf led them to a passage at the far end of the complex. Morrigan paused before removing the wards on the doorway that she’d placed sometime the night before.

“I know you think that you’re feeling better, but you should probably stay out of any fights that we may stumble across in the caverns.” When Elissa tried to protest, the witch held up a hand to silence her. “We have no way of knowing if there are more warriors like the one yesterday, and not nearly enough medicine left in case there are.”

“So what, I’m not even supposed to defend myself?” she challenged.

The witch shook her head irritably. “The plan is that no one will reach you, that you need not fight. Zevran and I should be able to take most foes at a good distance; Alistair will stay with you and fight off anything that should evade us.”

Elissa turned to Alistair for support and he refused to meet her gaze. “I’m sorry, love. I probably wouldn’t in any other circumstance, but I agree with Morrigan here. Mages or not these people have some sort of magic I’ve never seen, and it’s magic that you’re clearly susceptible to.”

She stood in stunned silence, and taking that for agreement Morrigan returned to the task of lowering the barriers on the door. But it wasn’t Alistair’s sudden spine that left her speechless—he’d called her ‘love’. If they had been anywhere else she’d have said or done _something_ , but instead she just allowed herself a small smile once she was certain everyone’s attention was off of her.

Genitivi’s map was perfect, and the caverns themselves were blessedly empty. They were quite dark, however, and there were no torches to be found. Morrigan spoke a word and a small flame ignited in her palm for Elissa to read the map by. The Brother had scribbled over the entrances to two specific corridors and made her swear that they would not explore anything beyond the path to the inner complex.

As they passed the first of the two forbidden corridors Zevran stopped and looked longingly down it.

“I will return,” he decided finally. “There is no harm in looking, yes?” Without awaiting a reply he darted through the shadows and into the darkness.

Elissa and the others shared a glance, but waited in silence. Not three minutes later the Antivan came running back down the passage in terror without any pretense of stealth.

“Andraste’s ass, Zevran, what did you do?” Elissa hissed at him as he took both her and Morrigan by their arms and dragged them along with him.

“Me? I did nothing,” he insisted. “But let us just say... no, there is no saying. We will stick to the path marked on your map.”

She wrenched her arm free of his grasp and nearly knocked herself off balance in the process. Alistair caught her before she fell, but all three of them stared at the elf in confusion.

“Not until you tell us what happened,” she demanded. “Whatever it was, we need to know about it in case we encounter something similar further in.”

Zevran clearly hadn’t thought of this possibility yet and blanched. “You think there may be more of them?”

“More of what?”

“Large birds,” he finally admitted. “Like raptors, but with scales in place of feathers. And... one may have been breathing fire.”

Elissa’s whole body went cold, but Morrigan seemed unimpressed. “Did I not tell you those amulets were carved of dragons’ teeth, elf?”

“Well, yes, but I thought perhaps it was some elaborate Fereldan joke... Or maybe that these people stumbled across an ancient skeleton.”

“I know you’ve not been with us long, elf, but when have you ever seen me crack a joke?” she replied idly. “Never mind. Having a dragon cult residing in the mountain changes nothing, really, except perhaps now we know better what we are dealing with.”

“What the hell is a dragon cult?” both Wardens demanded at nearly the same time.

The witch looked at the two with a combination of curiosity and disgust. “Elissa, I don’t know if I should be chiding you for stooping to Alistair’s mental level, or congratulating him for rising to yours.”

“Just answer the question, please,” Elissa sighed wearily. She couldn’t remember being this tired since their first visit to Redcliffe.

“Very well. A dragon cult is just what the name should imply. A community of people gather around the lair of a high dragon and revere it as a god. They care for her young and her mates, protecting them from outside dangers.”

“In return, the dragon gives her cultists a sort of a reverse tithe; a small number of the young are permitted to be slaughtered. I do not know if the dragon decides which cultists are worthy, or if the humans’ own leader does but a select number of them drink the sacrificed dragonlings’ blood, gaining powers much like those possessed by blood mages.”

Remembering the pain she felt when she came within ten feet or so of the first warrior in the temple—and Morrigan’s statement that she’d been nearly killed by the man without ever being touched—Elissa frowned. “How are we supposed to fight more than one of them?”

“ _You_ do not, or have you already forgotten? I will handle any further cultists we might encounter. Now that we know what we face, the same goes for the two of you,” she added, addressing Alistair and Zevran. “Do not instigate any fight, and draw your weapons only in defense. I should be capable of getting us passed anyone else we may come across.”

Morrigan took the lead and guided them through the passages marked as safe on Genitivi’s map. Strangely, the deeper they delved into the mountain the warmer it became, and just before reaching the second forbidden fork Elissa was sweating uncomfortably.

The witch paused a moment before readying her staff. “Stay here,” she ordered, disappearing around the bend in the tunnel. An icy gale flooded the passage, nearly freezing Elissa where she stood, and shortly afterward Morrigan returned.

“It is safe now,” she stated simply before continuing again. Following her around the bend Elissa gasped in shock. Lying dead in the passage way was an honest dragon, wings and all, though it was considerably smaller than the dragons in Fergus’s stories or in her nightmares of the Archdemon.

“’Tis just a drake,” Morrigan explained as she stepped over the corpse. “One of the high dragon’s many mates, but relatively weak in and of itself. I am much more concerned with the cultists themselves, and their supposed god.”

They all followed, cautiously stepping over the drake as if it would suddenly spring up and strike them. Zevran came last, skirting around away from its limp neck and finally leaping over its tail before scurrying ahead again to flank Morrigan. He seemed about to speak when a voice called out from somewhere ahead of them.

“Oy! We know you’re there, lowlanders! Father Kolgrim says I’m to bring you lot to him.”

Alistair and Zevran both had begun to draw their weapons, and Alistair placed himself between Elissa and the voice ahead of them. Morrigan shot them a murderous look, and they put their swords away grudgingly. She nodded in approval and walked confidently down the tunnel to where the man could see her.

“We have no business with your priest,” she stated flatly. “My companion seeks only to view the urn said to be held within the inner temple. Tell us what honors your god demands in exchange for such passage and we shall leave your people in peace.”

“’At’s for Father Kolgrim to decide if you get passage or not, lowlander. You’ll go to him first or you’ll die here.”

“I rather doubt that,” she replied with a bored tone, “but we’ve not the time to fight just now so I’ll spare you a lesson in manners. Take us to your damned priest, since clearly you lack the ability to think for yourself.”

The man opened his mouth and shut it again a few times; clearly he had been hoping for a battle. He finally turned to lead them the rest of the way down the corridor and into the large cavern Genitivi had marked as the location of the caverns’ exit.

The cavern itself was nearly the size of the outer temple’s main hall, but Elissa’s attention was instead focused on the men blocking their way—the men the first cultist was leading them to now. She counted five warriors, including their guide and the leader, plus two mages. There were plenty of nooks and crannies others could be hiding, but if anyone else was there they didn’t reveal themselves.

Morrigan approached their leader without hesitation. “You are Kolgrim?”

“You have not the right to address me so, woman. You have defiled our temple. You have spilled the blood of the faithful, and slaughtered our young.”

“Technically, priest, I killed a single drake. None of us have touched your young, and when your god learns of my actions she will shower blessings upon me for removing such a weak specimen from her harem.”

He glared at her for a long while. “What is it you want, woman?”

“Only the freedom to continue on to the inner temple, and to leave again in peace when we are finished with our business there. Tell us what we must do to earn this right.”

Kolgrim studied each of them in turn, and as his gaze fell on Elissa she had to fight to keep from gasping in pain. Morrigan told her before that she wasn’t strong enough to fight yet, and now that she was faced with another of the strange blood magic-using warriors she knew it was true.

“The prophet Andraste has overcome death itself and has returned to Her faithful in a form more radiant than you can imagine. Not even the Tevinter Imperium could hope to slay Her now. What hope do you have?”

“Do we truly look as if we are here to slay anyone?” Morrigan challenged. “My companions are armed, yes, but we came to you in this cavern in peace. Not one of our weapons have been drawn, which is more than you can say for yourselves. Name your Andraste’s demands and we will meet them.”

“The remains of Holy Andraste’s previous incarnation sap Her power. If you are permitted to pass, you must destroy them that Her glory can be complete.”

Morrigan pursed her lips. “You have a plan, I presume, but why have you not completed this task yourself?”

“A wretched demon blocks the way to the Urn; my people have no way of defeating it and I wonder if perhaps your people could deceive it to reach the Ashes instead. I will allow you all to pass to the inner temple on the oath you will take this vial of Divine Andraste’s own blood and soak the ashes with it.”

“It will be done,” she vowed, taking the vial from Kolgrim. One of the other cultists pointed in the direction of the exit at the back of the cavern and Morrigan led them out.

The wind outside the caverns was fierce, and Elissa tried desperately to convince herself that the shrieking noise echoing through the mountain peaks was nothing more. She had more of an idea than she was happy with regarding the nature of this reincarnated Andraste and did not wish that thought confirmed.

As they approached the gateway to the inner temple she picked up her pace just a bit to catch up to the witch. “May I see that vial he gave you?” she asked quietly.

Morrigan gave her a strange look but handed it over anyway. “I wouldn’t recommend drinking it, if that’s what you’re thinking. It would probably make the effects of their magic much worse before it became better, and I have no way of knowing how it would interact with your darkspawn taint.”

Elissa studied the vial closely for a few long moments. Where the darkspawn blood they’d collected prior to her Joining had been black and thick—nearly gelatinous—this was instead a rich garnet fluid with a nearly opalescent sheen. Then without a word she threw the vial in the snow and ice at their feet and crushed it with her heel.

“I know you think you did it to prevent a fight, and that you probably saved our lives in the process, but don’t you ever make a decision like that again without consulting me.”

 


	17. Blessed Andraste

Let the blade pass through the flesh,  
Let my blood touch the ground,  
Let my cries touch their hearts.  
Let mine be the last sacrifice.

_-Andraste 7:12_

 

The inner temple seemed much more modest than the sprawling outer complex had been. The ceiling of the first corridor at least was at most only twice Alistair’s height, and the carvings along the walls were far less elaborate.

“What is this place?” Alistair breathed as they rounded a corner into the first chamber. At the far end an impossibly aged knight waited patiently.

Elissa approached cautiously, remembering Kolgrim’s claims of a demon in the inner temple. “I bid you welcome, pilgrim,” the knight bowed respectfully as she neared, and she realized that in spite of initially appearing whole, he was instead some form of spectre.

“Who are you?” she asked, unsure of how to react. On the one hand, she didn’t trust the cultist’s word, especially after he requested that they defile Andraste’s ashes. But on the other hand she’d learned firsthand in the Circle Tower that demons could appear as anything they wished.

“I am the Guardian,” he replied. “Protector of the Urn of Sacred Ashes. I have waited years for this.”

“You’ve been waiting for someone to come take the Ashes?”

“It has been my duty, my life, to protect the Urn from those who would bring it harm, and to prepare the way for the faithful who come to revere Andraste. For years beyond counting I have been here, and so shall I remain until my task is done and the Imperium has crumbled into the sea.”

 _He’ll be here for the rest of eternity_ , she realized. _Even over a thousand years later the Imperium still holds influence over so much of northern Thedas. It’ll never be completely gone..._

“I’m sorry, ser, but we don’t have much time,” she apologized. “Can you tell me how to reach the Urn?”

He turned to gesture at the door behind him. “It is beyond. The faithful must first pass a number of trials before access is granted to the sanctum within.”

“Ser, I seek the Ashes to cure a noble man,” she began hesitantly.

The knight shook his head stubbornly. “You must still prove yourself worthy, and it is not my place to decide your worth or the worth of your cause. The Gauntlet will determine that. If you are found worthy, you will see the Urn and be allowed to take a small pinch of the Ashes for yourself. If not...” The knight trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air between them.

Elissa took a long, deep breath to steel herself. She instinctively held her head high, no longer a young girl running from the murder of her family or the betrayal at Ostagar. Lady Cousland, Grey Warden and Teyrna of Highever met the Guardian’s gaze.

“Let’s get this over with.”

He raised one hand to stop her. “Before you go, there is something I must ask. I see that the path that led you here was not easy. There is suffering in your past—your suffering, and the suffering of others. You abandoned your father and mother, leaving them in the hands of Rendon Howe, knowing he would show no mercy. Do you think you failed your parents?”

The image of her parents in the castle larder as she fled with Duncan flooded her mind, but Lady Cousland refused to allow it to affect her. “My parents gave themselves so that I could live,” she replied defiantly. “And so long as I live and serve the Wardens as my father commanded, I honor their memory.”

“Then you do not dwell on past mistakes—neither yours, nor someone else’s,” the spirit approved. “But what of those that follow you?”

The Guardian considered each of her companions. “Alistair, knight and Warden... you wonder if things would have different if you were with Duncan on the battlefield. You could have shielded him from the killing blow. You wonder, don’t you, if you should have died, and not him?”

Alistair faltered. “I... yes. If Duncan had been saved, and not me, everything would be better. If I’d just had the chance... maybe I...”

Without allowing him to finish the Guardian turned next to Zevran. “The Antivan elf...”

“Oh, is it my turn now?” the assassin drawled sarcastically. “Hurrah. I’m so excited.”

“Many have died at your hand. But is there any you regret more than a woman by the name of—”

All color left Zevran’s face. “How do you know about that?” he demanded.

“I know much, elf. The question stands, however. Do you regret—”

“ _Fantasma maldito_ ,” he swore. “Yes. The answer is ‘yes’, if that is what you wish to know. Now move on.”

Nodding, the Guardian finally addressed the witch. “And you, Morrigan, Flemeth’s daughter... what—”

She waved her hands at the Guardian in annoyance. “Begone, spirit. I will not play your games.”

“I will respect your wishes,” he bowed briefly before returning his attention to Elissa. “The way is open. Good luck, and may you find what you seek.”

The Guardian vanished then, the door behind him swinging open of its own accord.

The chamber beyond was slightly larger than the first. Four alcoves lined the walls on either side, and as they reached the center of the room a light appeared in each one, burning brightly for a few moments before each coalesced into a different phantom. The first of them stepped forward to greet them.

_A Poison of the soul_

_A passion’s cruel counterpart_

_From love she grows_

_Till love lies slain_

_Of what do I speak?_

 

The ghost wore ancient, heavy Alamarri armor and stood patiently, awaiting an answer to his riddle.

“I know this!” Alistair exclaimed suddenly. “Growing up in the monastery we had puzzles like this we had to solve in our lessons. Let’s see... poison... cruel counterpart... from love till love lies slain...” He frowned, considering the spirit before him.

“Wait a second, you’re General Maferath! ‘From love she grows till love lies slain’ is the jealousy that led you to betray Andraste!”

Maferath’s spirit sighed mournfully. “Yes, jealousy drove me to betrayal. I was the greatest general of the Alamarri... but beside her, I was nothing. Hundreds fell before her on bended knee. They loved her, as did the Maker. I loved her too, but what man can compare with a god?”

The spirit disappeared, and another approached, then another and another until all had posed their riddles: the Archon Hessarian, who put Andraste to the flame; his wife Vasilia who demanded the public execution; two of Andraste’s disciples, Cathaire her general and Havard who recovered her Ashes and carried them from the Imperium to the temple here; Brona, the Prophetess’s mother and Ealisay her oldest friend; and finally the elf Shartan.

 

_I’d neither a guest_

_Nor a trespasser be_

_In this place I belong_

_That belongs also to me._

 

Alistair had little trouble with the spirits’ various puzzles, but the last one seemed to have an effect on him. Elissa was about to answer for him when he finally whispered a single word.

“Home.”

Shartan nodded. “It was my dream for the People to have a home of their own, where we would have no masters but ourselves. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and thus we followed Andraste, against the Imperium. But she was betrayed, and so were we.”

The spirit faded, and the locks on the door at the far end of the chamber opened with an audible _clang_.

The next chamber was about the same size as the last, but four figures waited for them at the far end, and this time they were no apparitions. Each of the four was a perfect mirror of Elissa and her companions and they stood weapons ready for battle. She and Alistair both began to pull their weapons when Morrigan snorted in contempt.

“You two will never learn, will you?” she asked them casually before turning and turning each of the four to frozen statues with barely a word. The door unlatched itself automatically, and the witch led them to the next room while Elissa and Alistair shared a sheepish grin at both their shared response and Morrigan’s reaction to it.

The third area was a small round room, with a platform circling each side of a seemingly endless chasm. The far end of each platform ended just far enough away from the door at the other side of the room that it could not be leapt across, but when Alistair stepped on a switch in the floor a portion of a ghostly bridge appeared over the pit.

Stepping off the switch and back on again, Alistair tested the mechanism. Each time his weight pressed on the center of the switch the portion of bridge appeared and each time he moved off it the bridge vanished again. Elissa and Zevran each tested two other switches and other bridge sections phased in and out with various densities as they did.

“Aha!” Zevran grinned, and scurried around to each of them, pushing Alistair and Morrigan onto specific switches and pointing for Elissa to wait where the first portion should appear. He finally stepped onto his own switch, and the first two sections materialized fully before her.

Eyeing the bridge with some trepidation, Elissa said a small, silent prayer before stepping out cautiously. Holding her breath she crossed the first section and waited on the second.

When she realized Zevran was about to step off his switch she shut her eyes in dread; when nothing happened she peeked briefly and immediately regretted doing so. The platform behind her vanished entirely, and the one she stood on was nearly transparent in spite of its solid feel. She shut her eyes again while Zevran rearranged Alistair and Morrigan on their switches, opening them only when he called to her that it was safe to advance to the next section before shutting them tight again.

The final portion of the bridge had finally solidified, and when the elf whistled for her to move she dashed across it, desperate to have stone beneath her feet again on the other side. Elissa fell to her knees in relief, and looking back she realized the full bridge now hung stationary over the chasm for the others to cross.

Alistair offered her a hand to help her up, and she accepted gratefully, clinging to him for a few moments upon standing. “Everything alright?” he asked, smoothing her hair.

Nodding weakly, she smiled a bit. “I think I just learned that I have a problem with heights, is all.”

He chuckled and hugged her to his chest a moment. “Come on,” he smiled when he released her. “There can’t be that many tests left in this place.”

They led the way into what appeared to be the final chamber hand in hand. A small altar stood just ahead of them, and a simple stair rose on the other side of it to the dais that housed the Urn. As the elf and the witch trailed in behind them the door suddenly slammed shut and locked itself tight, and the back half of the room filled with flame.

“It’s a trap!” Zevran hissed, drawing his blades. When no foes appeared Elissa approached the altar, brushing the dust and cobwebs from its face.

 

_Cast off the trappings of worldly life_

_And cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit._

_King and slave_

_Lord and beggar_

_Be born anew_

_In the Maker’s sight._

 

Elissa barely hesitated when she finished the inscription. Unbuckling her sword belt she laid it and her dagger on the altar before moving on to her armor. She was working at the straps of her cuirass when Alistair interrupted her, his face red.

“Lissa, what do you think you’re doing?”

She paused long enough to point him to the carving and returned to her task. After tugging the leather armor over her head she next removed her bracers and greaves, placing all of these on the altar with her weapons, leaving her in her trousers and undershirt.

“I certainly hope the Maker allows for modesty,” she commented to no one as she rounded the altar, and pausing only for the briefest of breaths she stepped forward into the flames, which vanished as she crossed their threshold.

Alistair cried out behind her, and turning she saw him favoring one arm. She looked at him in confusion for a few moments before realizing that the fire had not disappeared for any of the others.

“Leave all your weapons and armor on the altar and the flames go away when you step into them,” she explained patiently. “From my view here, we’re all just standing in an empty room.”

Morrigan came up to the edge of the wall of flame and studied it. “Powerful magic, indeed,” she conceded finally, and set her staff across the pile of Elissa’s armor on the altar.

The witch likewise crossed the flames safely, and Alistair and Zevran finally began to remove their own armor and weapons. As each of them crossed the barrier that was now invisible to Elissa and Morrigan they winced in anticipation of the pain of heavy burns. Elissa tried to hide a grin as Alistair checked to make certain he was whole, all the way to the tips of his hair.

“All done?” she smirked at him.

He nodded absently, so she led the way up the stairs to the Urn itself. The vessel was surprisingly simple in its design; she had imagined it would be far more ornate.

Gingerly she lifted the lid from the top, accepting a small bottle that Morrigan offered her to scoop up some of the Ashes with. As she did her fingers brushed against some of the ash and her body was filled with warmth; she’d never felt healthier, stronger, more _perfect_ than she suddenly did now.

Elissa corked the bottle and stowed it safely in one of her packs. She regretted again not bringing Leliana with her, but they had more important things to worry about for now. First and foremost was getting off this mountain and rejoining Sten, Leliana, and Moira and helping get Genitivi to safety. Then would come returning to Redcliffe and healing Eamon.

She led them silently back to the altar to retrieve their gear. Alistair was still favoring one arm from where he burned it trying to follow her into the flames, and before he could cover it with his armor again she pulled him aside. Reaching into her pack she retrieved the bottle of ash and uncorked it.

“Lissa, we need that for the Arl!” he protested as she poured a few grains into his open palm. He stared at his hand in awe then, and she presumed it affected him the same way it had her. She re-corked the bottle and put it away again, then stretched up on her toes to give him a small kiss.

“Better?”

 

* * *

 

Kolgrim was waiting for them when they exited the inner complex with a handful of his warriors. “You have betrayed the Prophetess,” he accused as Elissa and the others approached him.

“You’re a fool, Kolgrim. Andraste is dead, and has been for over a thousand years. She did not reincarnate into a dragon or any other creature. Now let us pass.”

The priest lifted an ornate horn to his lips and blew three long notes on it. A piercing shriek rang out from somewhere over the mountain, masking the sounds of the cultists drawing their weapons. Elissa was forced to cover her ears, but dropped her arms slowly as she finally saw the beast itself land in the center of the clearing.

Her mind screamed at her to flee, but the only way off the mountain was blocked by the dragon. Instead she drew her weapons as she glanced at the others, and they all understood. While she and Alistair began to engage the cultists, Morrigan and Zevran found cover from which they could strike the dragon at range.

Elissa and Alistair became separated after only a few seconds, him facing the bulk of the cultists while she faced the priest alone. She knew that Kolgrim at least had the same magic as the first warrior she encountered in the temple, but she no longer felt the effects of the spell that had nearly killed her before.

Dancing easily around the slow swings of his axe she cut into him at least a half dozen times, drawing blood with each strike. He over swung drastically, losing his balance and his helmet in the process. Seizing on her opportunity she struck out with her sword; he barely managed to block it with the handle of his axe but clearly hadn’t anticipated the dagger that came surging forward immediately after.

The slash to his throat was quick, but it was deep enough and blood drenched her as the priest fell. The Warden evaluated the battle around her and quickly decided that Alistair had his own targets well under control. The dragon seemed weakened by the rain of arrows and magic that had fallen on it, but it now dug furiously through a pile of rubble as it sought its prey.

Focusing her attention on the wyrm Elissa tried to quickly remember any sort of weak spots she might have heard in the stories Fergus used to tell her. The only one that came to mind was a fantasy story of a dwarf with his magic ring that helped to kill a great dragon, but she somehow doubted she’d find a single missing scale on this one’s belly that she could strike.

The wings would be a good start, to keep it from into the air and raining fire down on them from above. They were also conveniently stretched across the snow, giving her easy access to the membranes of skin between each bone.

She ran toward the dragon silently, ducking under its left wing and thrusting her blade up through the delicate skin before ripping it back to the rear. The dragon shrieked in pain and tried to lift herself away, but the wing no longer worked and it ended up flailing instead. Elissa dashed back out of the dragon’s reach again, constantly staying behind it as it turned to try and find its attacker. Giving up, the beast finally returned to the rubble it had been digging through to seek easier prey.

There was a shrill whistle off to their right, and both Elissa and the dragon ahead of her turned to look. Morrigan stood at the top of a high ridge and was already in the middle of a spell as the dragon began to lumber toward the witch. Morrigan released her spell, but to Elissa’s eye nothing had changed: the dragon still was progressing toward the witch, and the witch was already working on her next attack.

It was then that Elissa felt the first ghost of a snowflake on her cheek. As she realized what was about to happen she ran as fast as she could away from the dragon, stopping only when she reached Alistair coming to meet her. The gale that flooded the clearing knocked them both from their feet, and a raging blizzard the likes of which Elissa had never seen engulfed the dragon. Not a moment later a massive peal of thunder joined the howling winds, lightning and ice twisting and dancing about one another in the chaos.

The storm’s rage died almost as quickly as it had begun, but when the snow cleared finally the dragon’s corpse was collapsed at the storm’s center and Morrigan was wearily making her way back down the ridge.

 

* * *

 

The trip down the mountain was uneventful, and Elissa said a small prayer of thanks for this as they retraced their steps through the caverns and the main temple. Alistair had found Zevran unconscious under the pile of rock the dragon had tried to dig through, and Morrigan was so exhausted she could barely stand, so the Wardens supported the two as they made their way back to the village.

Leliana met them halfway to the Chantry and she hurried ahead of them to prepare a space for the two to rest and heal. When they arrived just behind her Morrigan shrugged off Elissa’s help, leaning heavily on her staff as she climbed the steps to the Chantry and settling herself on the bedroll Leliana laid out for her just inside. Alistair walked Zevran over to another bedroll, then he joined Elissa to speak with Genitivi.

The Brother had been set up on a small cot in one of the back rooms, and his eyes widened in wonder when he saw the two Wardens.

“You did it, didn’t you?” he breathed in awe, looking from one to the other.

“We did,” she confirmed, kneeling beside him and pulling the bottle from her bag. “There’s enough that we can take care of your leg and still have plenty left over for the Arl.”

Genitivi’s hand closed over her own as she began to uncork the bottle. “No, save it all. Sten and Leliana have constructed a litter to help get me down the mountain. I will wait for the healers.”

“You’re certain?”

He nodded, smiling gently. “It is wonder enough to know that my life’s work has not been spent in vain.”

Elissa squeezed the Brother’s hand gently and put the bottle away before rising. “I think we’ll stay here another night, to give Morrigan and Zevran time to regain their strength, but then we’ll go again in the morning. Try to rest until then.”

She and Alistair left Genitivi to sleep, closing the door behind them. Back in the main hall of the Chantry she glanced around a moment in confusion.

“Leliana, where are the rest of our things?”

The redhead had been humming to herself as she organized Morrigan’s and Zevran’s equipment. “Hm? Oh, your equipment packs had most of the food, so I put them in the library, since the hearth there is better for cooking than here.”

The tapestry that had previously hidden the door to the library had been removed, and Elissa ducked into the room, Alistair just behind her. She turned to give him a curious look when he closed the door behind them, then gave a surprised squeal as he snatched her up and kissed her.

“What was that for?” she smiled when he finally broke for air.

“I just had to make certain you were real,” he whispered, toying with a bit of her hair. “I know that Morrigan wasn’t nearly as certain that you were okay after your collapse as she let on, and I... I can’t stand the thought of losing you. Not to the Blight, not to a dragon, and certainly not in some random skirmish in some random ruin. Not ever.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. “I promise I’m real, love.”

“Love?” he repeated in mock surprise. “Well, I have to say that I do like the sound of that...”

Elissa pushed him away a bit and eyed him suspiciously. “Why do you say it like that, like it’s the first time the thought occurred to you? Andraste’s ass, Alistair, you said it first!”

“What? No! Oh, you mean before we headed into the caverns? No, what I said then was _livarot_. Delicious cheese, straight from Ghislain.”

Crossing her arms, she glared at him. “So you’re saying your new pet name for me is a cheese that smells like a barn?”

He grinned evilly in reply, and her eyes widened as she realized he’d gotten her. “You _ass_!” she shrieked, punching his shoulder. He played up the injury, which just infuriated her more. She went to swing at him again but he caught her arm and used the momentum to pull her close.

“I do love you, Elissa,” he whispered after kissing her. She tried to reply, but before she could he was kissing her again, softly at first and gradually with more and more urgency. Unlike the night in Denerim, when she’d moved too soon, this time he reached for her buckles first, and after she helped pull her cuirass off she worked on the straps that kept his shield on his back so she could get at his armor as well. The shield fell to the stone floor with a heavy clatter, but neither of them heard it.

What they did hear was Leliana very primly clearing her throat at the door. “While I would normally agree that you two have taken far too long to reach this point, please remember we are in a holy place,” she sniffed after they recovered from the shock of finding her there. The bard then spun on her heel and slammed the door behind her again.

Elissa pulled Alistair back down to her briefly and kissed him again. “I love you too, Alistair. And nothing’s going to take me away from you. Not ever.”

 

* * *

 

They left late the next morning, Morrigan leaving first to scout the path ahead and the others following shortly afterward. They took turns carrying Genitivi’s litter, two at a time, and when the first night fell Elissa volunteered Alistair’s tent for the Brother to use. Morrigan made a disgusted noise and stalked off a ways to make her own camp at the far end of the clearing they’d found as Elissa systematically moved Alistair’s packs to her own tent.

Neither of them had first watch, so they turned in shortly after supper. There was a bit of confusion over how best to share their blankets, since she had previously shared with Leliana when necessary and the Orlesian woman was roughly Elissa’s height. Alistair was over a foot taller than she was, though, and if the blankets were pulled the wrong way his feet ended up poking out the other end.

“Not that I mind the overall arrangement,” he began as she curled up to him, using his chest for a pillow, “but why’d I have to give up my tent? You could have given Genitivi yours, and we could have used mine.”

“Because, dear,” she murmured sleepily, “your tent is too narrow for two. Besides, I also have Moira, and she’ll need somewhere to sleep when she’s not busy tormenting Morrigan.”

Yawning, Alistair hugged her close. “I suppose I can forgive you for having a dog, seeing as how she bothers Miss Turn-You-Into-a-Toad so much.”

 

* * *

 

The trip out of the mountains was much easier than the trip into them, in spite of having to carry Genitivi. Elissa tried a few more times to use the Ashes to heal his leg, but he continued to refuse. “Perhaps after healing the Arl, if there is enough remaining and the mages cannot help me,” he would say, waving her and the bottle away and eventually she gave up trying.

In spite of the bitter cold, they made fantastic time once they reached the highway just a bit south of Rainesfere, and they reached Redcliffe in under a fortnight. Either Isolde or Teagan must have heard of their approach, as they were met by a detachment of knights about an hour outside of the village. Two of these knights took over with Genitivi’s litter, and Elissa and Alistair excused themselves to go ahead to the castle.

Isolde met them in the courtyard and curtsied deeply when they approached. “Lady Elissa, thank the Maker you’ve returned! What news do you bring of the Urn?”

“I have the Ashes, Isolde,” she smiled at the arlessa. “I also have Brother Genitivi coming up behind us, but he’s hurt badly and won’t allow me to use a bit of the Ash on him. Can you have a healer ready to meet him when he arrives?”

“Of course, your Grace,” Isolde curtsied again. “Enchanter Wynne returned a week ago with two dozen mages; I’ll ask her to send her best healers after the Brother, and if you don’t mind we will send her with the Ashes to my husband personally.”

Elissa nodded agreement, and Isolde led them inside. When Wynne saw them she embraced them both tightly, one arm around each of their necks. “Maker’s breath, you two, I heard the dragon in my dreams and was certain I’d not see you again.”

They returned the hug a bit awkwardly, and she released them with a slight laugh. “I’m sorry, you must be exhausted. I saw Valena on my way down, and it seems she is already preparing your rooms for you.”

Elissa had a vision of a steaming tub then, and with a dreamy smile she handed the bottle containing the Ashes to Wynne. “Thank you for taking care of this, Wynne. I’m going to go get washed up, but can you send someone for me when the Arl’s awake and strong enough to see us?”

The mage nodded and hugged Elissa close once more. “I’m sorry if I seemed harsh before, child,” she whispered. “Love _is_ selfish, but it is equally selfish of anyone to try and deny you the opportunity to be happy, especially in these times.”

The younger woman genuinely returned the embrace this time. “Thank you, Wynne.”

Valena had the bath ready and waiting by the time Elissa reached her rooms and the young Warden was already fighting with the buckles and straps on her armor before her door was even shut.

She sighed happily as she finally sank into the water, pausing only a moment before dunking her head under the surface as well. When she couldn’t hold her breath anymore and reemerged she heard Valena laughing lightly, and gave her a questioning look.

“I’m sorry, milady, it’s not my place,” she apologized hastily, though her laugh still hovered around her eyes.

Genuinely curious, Elissa raised an eyebrow for the maid to continue. “What is it?” she insisted when Valena giggled again.

“Milady, d’you know those big bugs they pull out the sea in Gwaren? The ones that turn red when you boil them?”

Elissa scrunched her face, trying to remember. It’d been a long time since her family last visited Gwaren. “Lobsters?” she asked finally as she remembered.

The maid nodded as she stifled another giggle and pointed to the standing mirror on the far side of the room. Elissa had to sit up a bit to see her reflection, but when she did she collapsed back into the water nearly dying of laughter. Every inch of visible skin on her body was now bright scarlet, as if she’d spent an afternoon in the sun without a proper hat to shield her face. In her haste to reach her bath she hadn’t let the water cool first.

“I’ll go prepare a gown for you,” Valena smiled. “While you were away the arlessa insisted we get you some of your own for when you’re here. Lady Isolde insisted on a few more elaborate fashions, but most of what I found for you are more comfortable styles.”

The maid handed her a cloth and a bar of soap as she passed on her way to the wardrobe. As Elissa washed, Valena browsed through the rainbow of fabrics within. Every now and again the girl would pause and glance back at her while considering one dress or another before shaking her head and moving on to the next gown.

“The light blue one from before was nice,” she murmured to herself, “but Lady Isolde will be upset if we don’t have you in one of the newer ones at supper tonight.”

“Valena, how many gowns did the Arlessa have you find?”

“Oh, about thirty or so. There's some for winter and summer both, since we weren't sure how long you'd be coming and going before you can finally return to Highever. Don't worry, I made sure to find you some pants and blouses, too, so that you're not in a corset all the time.”

“Maker, thank you!” Elissa laughed. “I can't handle so many laces every day as when we were here last time.”

Valena turned back to the wardrobe and after a few moments finally selected a hanger from near the back. “How about this one?” she asked, holding up a gown of violet  and lavender velvet with rich silver embroidery. “The bodice is a _bit_ complicated, what with the hidden laces, but the color would be amazing with your dark hair.”

“I think I can handle a few extra laces for one night,” she whispered as she eyed the dress with a speculative smile. “Yes, that one will do nicely.”

After her bath she had Valena help her into the dress, and in spite of how stunning it was she was beginning to regret her earlier eagerness for the laces. Strangely, the corset came first, lacing down each side and down the back. Much of what she thought at first glance was embroidery was actually extremely fine beadwork on the corset itself, and it sparkled as the light hit it.

Thankfully the gown itself was easier than the corset—only one simple set of laces at the back of the dress—and sleeves were sheer, gathered on her upper arms by a pair of silver cuffs before trailing down at her sides.

Once Valena finished with all the dress’s ties she turned her attention to Elissa’s hair. There was no way it would dry before supper, so instead of brushing it out Valena split it into two sections and carefully braided each portion.

“Pigtails?” Elissa asked with a curious smile. “They don’t really match the dress itself.”

The maid fetched some pins from a drawer in the vanity. “Not quite, but they are a step toward something I’m going to try.” Taking the first braid she wrapped it under the first and around the crown of Elissa’s head, inserting pins at a regular interval to hold it into place. Valena repeated the action with the other braid, pinning it as she went.

Smiling at her work, the girl returned to the wardrobe and retrieved the slippers that matched the gown. “Supper should be ready any time, if you want to go on downstairs. I’ll collect your armor, and that of your friends, and take them to my father for repairs.”

Elissa slipped on the shoes and stood to admire her reflection in the mirror. Alistair was going to melt when he saw her.

“Valena,” she called before the maid left with her equipment. “I don’t think I’m going to need your help after supper tonight.”

Elissa made her way down to the dining hall after checking her reflection one last time, and found Leliana already seated, humming softly and reading a book as she ate a small bowl of stew. The bard glanced up at her briefly as she entered, then smirked knowingly before turning back to her book.

“What’s that grin for?” Elissa asked as she took a seat and a servant hurried out to bring her a bowl and some wine.

“Hm? Oh, nothing, you just seem to be awfully dressed up for such a simple supper,” the redhead replied innocently.

The younger woman looked her friend over curiously. “And I suppose Orlesian satin is casual?”

Leliana laughed. “I suppose you are right, but Lady Isolde was kind enough to order some comforts from home for me while we were away.”

“And look!” she added as she stood and came around the table for Elissa to see. “The ribbons match the slippers you gave me!” She lifted the hem of her skirt enough to show off her shoes, which were the exact shade as the delicate blue trim in her ivory gown.

“I’m glad you like them,” Elissa smiled. A servant refilled her bowl and she thanked the woman absently. “You haven’t seen Alistair, have you?”

“Ah, so that is what this is about,” the bard laughed, indicating Elissa’s dress. “Your prince has come and gone already; I… believe he was going to check on the Arl and then come find you after.”

“Oh,” the Warden replied, a bit disappointed that she’d missed him. She finished her stew in silence, then excused herself. “I’m going to go back upstairs, I think. Let Alistair know, if you see him?”


	18. Arl of Redcliffe

For You are the fire at the heart of the world  
And comfort is only Yours to give.

-Transfigurations 12:6

 

She sat in her parlor, staring absently into the fireplace. Two hours had passed since supper, and still Elissa had only Moira for company. She took the braids out not long ago, and her hair fell in damp waves across her shoulders. Just as she was about to go find Valena or Leliana for help with her corset there was a light knock at her door, and she and the Mabari both startled at the sound.

Elissa’s heart jumped into her throat, and it was took all she had to not run to answer it. Smoothing her hair, she finally opened the door and couldn’t help but smile when she saw Alistair waiting on the other side.

“How’s Eamon?” she asked as she let him in.

He gave her a funny look. “What? Oh, I... um... I mean, he’s awake, I guess. I didn’t get to see him; Isolde and Connor are with him, and all.”

 _Then where the hell have you been?_ She wanted to scream at him for vanishing since they’d arrived that afternoon, for not showing up for supper after all the trouble she’d gone to dress up for him. But before she could there was another timid knock at the door and Alistair grinned, kissing her on the forehead then getting the door himself.

“Who’s there, love?” she asked, but he deliberately blocked her view of the corridor outside.

Alistair finally shut the door, carrying some sort of tray but trying his best to shield it from her. Every time she tried to get a look he would shift again, his back always to her as he made his way to the small table on one side of the room. Placing the tray down gingerly, he turned and gave her a wide grin as he lifted the lid.

“A cake?” she asked when she finally saw what he’d been hiding, bewildered.

“Not just any cake,” he smiled, pulling her close. “A nightingale told me your birthday’s just a day after Wintersend, and since who knows where we’ll be in two weeks, I thought we’d celebrate tonight.”

Elissa was speechless. The last thing on her mind recently had been her birthday—she’d only remembered Satinalia because of Leliana—yet he’d gone to the effort not only to find out when it was, but to arrange this for her as well.

“Thank you,” she finally whispered, her voice near breaking. She felt tears welling up and for the first time in a long time they weren’t tears of sorrow. Alistair noticed and gently kissed away the few that managed to fall, and she laughed at herself. It was so silly, to cry out of happiness the way she was, so instead she slid her arms up around his neck and pulled him down to her for a proper, deep kiss. One kiss became another, and another, and Elissa noticed with a slight smile that he’d shaven at some point. When he finally tugged gently at the laces at the back of her gown she pulled away just long enough to put the cover back over the cake for later and to check that her door was locked.

Satisfied that everything was secure she led him finally to her bedroom, shooing out Moira in the process and locking that door behind them as well.

 

* * *

 

It was just after dawn when Elissa awoke, and glancing out the window to her right she could see snow falling softly on the other side of the thick glass. Smiling, she nestled down under her comforters, enjoying their warmth and a general feeling of peace she hadn’t felt in a very, very long time.

A weight on the other side of her bed shifted, and a strong arm draped itself over her and pulled her close.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

Elissa and Alistair skipped breakfast entirely that first morning, leaving her bed only long enough to retrieve the cake he’d brought for her the night before. It was nearly midday when Leliana came looking for them, letting herself in through each of the two locked doors between the lovers and the rest of the world.

“It is not healthy to lie about all day, you know,” the bard commented nonchalantly as she placed a small bundle on the dresser and drew back all the curtains to force daylight on them. “Alistair, I took the liberty of retrieving some clothes from your room for you.”

He finally pulled the comforter down from over his head sheepishly. “Good morning, Leliana,” he sighed as he sat up, careful not to pull the covers off Elissa in the process.

The Orlesian laid a robe across the foot of the bed for each of them, then opened up the wardrobe. She thumbed through it for a moment before selecting one of the simpler gowns and draping it across the wardrobe’s door.

“Alistair, dear, I presume you learned enough about how a dress laces last night? Or should I stay and help Elissa get dressed?”

He coughed uncomfortably as Elissa giggled. “We only really got as far as the _unlacing_ last night,” she blushed. “Hasn’t really been much reason to relace anything again.”

“Well, there’s reason enough to get dressed now; the Arl has asked to see you both.”

Elissa sat up, gathering the blankets around her as she reached for one of the robes. “Eamon’s awake?” she asked cautiously. She knew they needed him to get the army’s support against the Blight, but she also remembered the conversation with Teagan months before—that Eamon was certain to nominate Alistair for the throne come the Landsmeet.

“Let’s get this over with,” she muttered as she began to dress.

 

* * *

 

Arl Eamon was much thinner than the last time Elissa had seen him, but his eyes were just as shrewd as she remembered. “Alistair; Lady Cousland,” he greeted them as they entered. “I understand I have the two of you to thank for not only my life, but for the wellbeing of my family and my people. I am in your debt. Will you permit me to offer you a reward for your service?”

“It’s enough to see you awake and well, ser,” she replied evenly. “I know you’ve only just recovered, but we need to know how much you’ve been told about everything that’s happened since you fell ill.”

The arl sighed wearily. “Teagan has informed me of the events at Ostagar, including Loghain’s betrayal of my nephew and your Grey Wardens. I presume you came here seeking my assistance with the Landsmeet?”

“And his role in your poisoning, brother,” Teagan reminded him bluntly. “There is no telling what he will do one he learns of your recovery.”

“Loghain instigates a civil war even though the darkspawn are on our very doorstep,” Eamon shook his head sorrowfully. “Long have I known him. He was ever a sensible man; one who never desired power.”

“I was there when he announced he was taking control of the throne, Eamon,” Teagan argued. “He is mad with ambition, I tell you.”

“Mad indeed... Whatever happened to him, Loghain must be stopped. What’s more we can scarce afford to fight this war to its bitter end.”

Elissa forced herself to breathe evenly. She knew what was coming and had to head it off. “That’s why we need you to call a Landsmeet. You have to unite the Bannorn against Loghain.”

“I could unite those opposing Loghain, yes,” he conceded. “But not all oppose him. He has some very powerful allies. Were your father still alive, we would certainly succeed; but with Highever in Howe’s hands, all the banns that would otherwise support the Couslands will fall in behind the throne as it currently stands.”

Eamon paused, looking just passed Elissa to the silent Alistair. “Had we a candidate with the pedigree to replace Anora-”

“-That’s where you come in, Eamon,” she interrupted him. “ _You_ have the respect of every noble not terrified of Loghain. _Your_ name is more known than any other. _You_ are fully trained and experienced in statecraft. Maker’s breath, Eamon, you trained Cailan!”

“And I’ll train Alistair just the same.”

They stared at each other coldly, neither willing to be the first to back down. Never before did Elissa wish that she were a mage, that she had the power to set a man on fire with thought alone, and never before was she so grateful she wasn’t. “It would be more _efficient_ for you to take the throne. Alistair is a Grey Warden.”

“Aside from your Warden argument, you would be equally _efficient_ a nominee, your _Grace_. Daughter of a Teyrn, trained in both statecraft and military strategy. Perhaps you would prefer that I put your name forward instead? I’m sure that I could drum up sympathy for the Cousland name if I start early enough.”

“You son of a _bitch_ ,” she flared at him, and Alistair caught her by the arm and pulled her back before she even realized she was moving toward the arl.

“It’s not worth it, love,” he whispered, pulling her close and smoothing her hair to calm her. “Eamon, if I consider going along with this, will you get us the army’s support?”

“Of course I will,” the arl agreed. “And I’ll see to it that you are allowed to complete your obligations to the Grey Wardens before you actually take the throne.” Eamon’s glanced back to Elissa again. “Is this acceptable, your Grace?”

Elissa stormed from the room without answering, leaving everyone to stare after her. “It would be advisable for you to follow her, if I’ve learned anything from ten years of marriage,” Eamon told Alistair pointedly.

 

* * *

 

Alistair was waiting for her when she finally reached her rooms, and she stared at first him, then the door in confusion. “How did you-?”

“I grew up here, remember?” he grinned. “I had all the servants’ passages memorized by the time I was four.”

Elissa remembered her anger and shook off the confusion that’d taken her. “How could you agree to his plan?” she demanded of him. “I thought we’d agreed, that we’d put him forward instead?” She collapsed on the sitee next to him in frustration.

“It would be one thing if I honestly believed you wanted this,” she continued. “But this isn’t you.”

He wrapped her in his arms and held her close. “What choice do I have? Eamon’s obviously going to nominate me whether I want it or not, and you were right before; the moment he reveals that Maric was my father, all the Landsmeet is going to see is ‘Theirin’ and I’ll never have a moment’s peace again.”

“Well,” she grinned after a few minutes, kissing him. “I’m sure you’ll be able to have at least a _few_ moments of peace.”

“You know what I mean,”" he replied, returning her kiss. “Although, I hadn’t really expected Eamon to be well enough to see us for at least a week. Since he's already awake, we’ll probably need to leave sooner than later, either for Orzammar or to try and find the Dalish.”

She sighed and settled against him. “At least we have his support at the Landsmeet. And it’ll take months for messengers to get to all the banns, and longer to get them all to Denerim, so we should have time to get both the treaties first.”

They sat for a while, and eventually she dozed off against his shoulder. He nudged her awake when there was a knock at the door, and after speaking to the servant waiting at the other side he returned to her on the sitee.

“He said that Teagan wants to speak to us before supper,” he told her, sitting.

“Any idea what about?” she asked him.

Alistair shrugged. “Probably to scold us for earlier. Either that, or to try and talk me into staying here or something to keep me safe until they can parade me around at the Landsmeet.”

 

* * *

 

Teagan’s plan was exactly what Alistair had guessed.

“Absolutely not,” Elissa insisted. “We’re both Wardens before anything else, and we’re both going.”

“Your Grace,” he began, and she got up to leave.

“I’m not going to sit here and listen to this, Teagan,” she called over her shoulder on her way out.

“Lady Elissa, please consider this at least,” he called after her. Sighing, she turning back to him. “Brother Genitivi will be returning to Denerim soon, and will need an escort. When he’s well enough to travel, go with him and ensure he arrives safely. When you’re done, you can try to find the Dalish the Brecillian forest. I don’t know much about their people, but there’s normally one clan or another in that area this time of year.”

She considered this a few moments, glancing at Alistair for his opinion. He shrugged back at her; this was clearly a decision she would have to make herself.

“Fine,” she relented. “So long as we don’t have to hear another word from you or Eamon about kings, thrones, or anything related until the Landsmeet itself.”

“Of course, your Grace.”

Alistair stood to leave with her, but she stopped once more. “Teagan, there is one thing you can do for me while we’re away. I haven’t had the time to search for Fergus, and I doubt circumstances are going to change any time soon. Find him for me, whether he’s alive or dead, and I don’t want to hear a single ‘your Grace’ from anyone else here again until we know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s gone.”


	19. Loose Ends

_Those who bear false witness_ _  
_ _And work to deceive others, know this:_ _  
_ _There is but one Truth._ _  
_ _All things are known to our Maker_ _  
_ _And He shall judge their lies._

-Transfigurations 1:4

 

 

Elissa had hoped for a few days to rest while Brother Genitivi finished recovering. Her companions each had different ideas. Zevran insisted on sparring with her in the practice yard daily. Sten had a possible lead in Orzammar about his sword. Leliana and Wynne bullied her into going to services in the village Chantry each morning and evening. Morrigan at least brought her an... intriguing problem, though Elissa wasn’t certain she was exactly understanding it herself.

“I tell you, I will not sit around waiting, like some sack to be filled!” the witch flared at her, slamming her fist on the massive tome Elissa had brought her from the Tower what seemed like ages ago.

Elissa rubbed her temples as she paced, trying to comprehend what the woman was telling her. “Morrigan, are you certain you’ve translated it properly?”

“I do not ask you if you are certain when you stop to listen to your damned song, do I?” she demanded.

“What do you want us to do about it, though?” Alistair asked her, and the witch glared at him.

“I should think that is obvious,” she scoffed. “We must destroy Flemeth before she does the same to me.”

“You do realize your mother’s hut is surrounded by the horde, don’t you?” Elissa finally asked. “Even with your knowledge of the Wilds, even with Alistair and I not sleeping the entire time, we won’t be able to avoid the darkspawn to get there.”

“I will not be going.”

Elissa’s eyes narrowed. “But you just said...”

“My hands are tied, Elissa. If I go myself, Flemeth is liable to possess me straight away out of desperation. That is why I need you to eliminate her for me.”

She stopped pacing and chewed on her thumb. “Just... give me some time to think,” she finally conceded. “I can’t make any promises yet, but if we can find a chance to get that way, I’ll at least try and do _something_. Just keep studying that tome, I suppose, and if there’s anything more let me know?”

The witch nodded and left, taking the grimoire with her. Alistair latched the door after her and gave Elissa a look. “Are you really considering killing the Witch of the Wilds?” he asked, bemused.

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “Morrigan certainly seems convinced that it’s possible, at least, but everything I’ve ever learned about Flemeth says she’s immortal.”

“It’d still probably be easier than finding one clan of Dalish in the entire Brecilian Forest. Not to mention roaming that forest puts us awfully close to Gwaren,” he pointed out.

Elissa sat by the hearth with Moira. “I don’t think that’s going to be too much of an issue,” she disagreed, scratching the hound’s ear. “Loghain and the majority of his soldiers are in Denerim, not Gwaren. And from what we’ve heard the past few days, we should be safe enough even moving openly around the capital now, in spite of the bounty he placed on us. _His_ soldiers might try and arrest us, but if even half of what Tomas and Murdock say is true, the actual city guard are on our side. It seems they lost quite a bit when Loghain betrayed the king at Ostagar.”

Alistair was quiet for a long while. “Valena’s going to be furious with you for getting soot all over that dress, you know,” he said finally.

“It’s a good thing it’s not one of the fancy ones then, isn’t it?” she grinned. “Speaking of, I should probably find her so I can start getting changed for supper. I was thinking about wearing that dark green gown tonight, and there’s no way I’ll be able to get into it on my own.”

He offered a hand to help her stand, and wrapped his arms tight around her waist when she did. “So long as you let me get you out of it this time,” he whispered against her neck.

 

* * *

 

Three days later Wynne declared Genitivi well enough to travel, and they all prepared to leave the next morning. Elissa had been hoping to take a boat to the north end of Lake Calenhad and then to continue on to Denerim from there—avoiding both much of the weather and, with any luck, the bulk of the horde—but the knarr they’d used before was the only boat large enough for their entire party, and Teagan had taken it back to Rainesfere to organize what men he could there to join Eamon’s knights when the time finally came.

“Two weeks if we stick to the highway, weather and darkspawn willing,” Elissa told herself quietly as everyone gathered their equipment and supply packs in the castle’s courtyard shortly before dawn.

“Speaking to oneself is often the first sign of madness, dear Warden,” Zevran quipped from a short way away and she smiled.

_Drinking darkspawn blood was probably the first sign of madness, actually, but it’s not like there was much choice. Though aside from sleeping on the ground more often than in a bed, I doubt I’d trade it for anything._

“Get back to work, Zevran,” she replied instead. “Make sure Wynne and Brother Genitivi’s packs are secure.”

Her eyes fell on her father’s shield among Alistair’s packs, and she instinctively brushed her fingers against the pommel of her family’s sword at her hip. Eamon had been furious when she’d requested her sword and shield retrieved from Redcliffe’s armory, but she’d long since decided it was time to start testing loyalties. Teagan had sworn to find Fergus for her, but in the meantime she had to see to it that the Couslands were not forgotten. Elissa prayed that by showing the strength of the Cousland line she could sway back the lesser banns who might otherwise be afraid to speak out against Howe and Loghain.

“All alright?” Alistair asked from just behind her, and she jumped at the sound of his voice.

“Dammit, Alistair, don’t startle me like that!” she laughed. “Everything’s fine, I’m just thinking about everything that needs to be done still. We’ll resupply in Denerim after getting Genitivi home, but after that I’m not sure where exactly we should start in the forest to find the elves.”

“Don’t forget dodging the horde both there and back,” he reminded her as he strapped on his sword belt and her shield.

“I was deliberately trying to forget that,” she smiled back wryly. “What about you? You’ve been awfully quiet this morning.”

He glanced around the courtyard momentarily before drawing her to one side. “Since we’re heading back to Denerim anyway, I was wondering if I could go visit someone while we’re there.”

“An old flame that I need to worry about?” she teased lightly.

Alistair stared at her in horror. “What? No! Why would I- No! It’s just... My mother had a daughter, but she was sent away to live with relatives when I was born and our mother died. Her name’s Goldanna. I looked her up after my Joining, but never had the guts to go see her. I just... didn’t want to chance anything happening, what with the Blight, without seeing her at least once.”

“I’m sure we’ll be able to take some time while we’re in the city,” she smiled gently. “I know if I got word that Fergus was someplace I could get to so easily, I’d be there in a heartbeat.”

He sighed in relief and pulled her in for a kiss. “Thank you, love. You have no idea what it means to me.”

“Are you two _quite_ finished?” Morrigan called irritably from the gate.

Elissa grinned evilly for a fraction of a second before pulling Alistair down to her for an especially long, wet kiss. She waited until she heard the witch make gagging sounds behind her, and Leliana laughing, before breaking away.

“Yes, Morrigan, I believe we’re finished for now,” she smirked as she led Alistair passed the witch and down the hill.

 

* * *

 

The horde’s song was had been with her constantly since they descended from the Frostback Mountains, but as they made their way toward the remains of Lothering the melody grew stronger and stronger. They defaulted to setting double watches starting the first night, though Morrigan didn’t report any darkspawn while scouting and Alistair and Elissa agreed that the song, while strong, wasn’t near enough to cause them to split their own watches to span the nights in addition to the normal shifts.

The attack came a day before they reached Lothering itself, not from the darkspawn but by a group of rogues perhaps nine or ten strong. Elissa gestured for Alistair to stay back and protect Wynne and Genitivi while she approached their leader, sword and dagger drawn but held low.

“We’re here only for the red head,” one of them called to her in a thick Orlesian accent. “Hand that one over and we will leave you to your own business.”

Leliana stormed passed Elissa suddenly, stopping a few feet short of the mercenaries and hissing at them in Orlesian. The leader barked back at her, and they argued for some time. Finally the man lunged at her and she brushed him aside, reversing the grip on one of her daggers and sinking it into his kidney as he passed. The bard called a challenge out to the other thugs, and they scattered.

“I never liked this part,” she admitted to Elissa as she dug through the man’s pockets. She retrieved a scrap of paper; reading it she scowled and tossed it aside.

“Leliana, what’s going on?”

The woman sat back on her heels and sighed heavily. “It seems that my old master has found me, and wishes to correct her earlier mistake of allowing me to live. She is in Denerim; I will address this issue while you are delivering Brother Genitivi to his home.”

The remainder of the trip to Denerim was almost suspiciously quiet. There were many refugees heading north, a few groups bandits, and one roaming band of genlocks, but otherwise it was uneventful. The most excitement came a day after they skirted the South Reach bannorn and set their nightly camp, and even that was nothing more than the brief reappearance of the pair of dwarves that Morrigan had inadvertently rescued when they left Lothering that first time, so long ago.

Elissa did make a point a few nights before they reached Denerim to pull Zevran to one side after Leliana had gone to find a stream to wash some of their laundry in.

“Something you need?” he grinned suggestively, and she rolled her eyes.

“Nothing like that, Zev; not from you,” she replied pointedly, and he had the grace to pretend to be hurt. “I want you to stick with Leliana when we get inside the city in a few days. I’ve got a bad feeling about her going to see her old bard master and don’t want her alone when she pays the woman a visit.”

“A covert mission, then, yes?”

“That’s up to you. If you think she’ll let you come along openly, then by all means just offer your company. No matter what, though, I don’t want her going without _someone_ so just tail her if you have to _._ I doubt Morrigan would appreciate this task, and she’d be the next best candidate.”

“It will be done,” he replied, bowing with a flourish.

 

* * *

 

Everyone was on edge as they approached the main gate into Denerim a few mornings later, Genitivi leading them with Elissa and Sten close at his back. The gate guard recognized and greeted the Brother, but eyed the others suspiciously.

“Refugees ‘av to go straight to the docks, round the outside of the wall,” he told them. “Catch yer boats and be on yer ways.”

Another guard hurried up and took the first by the arm, dragging him away a bit. They argued for a moment, then the second man returned and bowed slightly.

“Apologies, Lady Cousland,” he said to Elissa in a hushed whisper. “These idiot boys wouldn’t know their ass from their elbow. You’ll have no trouble from the guard, and I’ll do what I can to keep word of your presence from the Teyrn.”

Elissa studied him carefully a moment. “You aren’t going to arrest us?”

The guard laughed bitterly. “Even if I believed you Wardens were responsible for that business down in Ostagar—and I don’t—if I asked my men to apprehend you, they’d all run and cry big, sobby tears in their courtesan’s bosoms. _Most_ noble families don’t train their children the way your father did, my lady, and I get the questionable honor of making men of those fools.”

He gestured for them to enter; she nodded to the others and they went on ahead. “What’s your name, ser?” she asked before continuing on to the city herself.

“It’s no ‘ser’, my lady. Just Kylon.”

“Are there any particular areas that are more or less... sympathetic to either the Wardens _or_ the Teyrn... that we should stick to or avoid as necessary?”

Kylon laughed nervously. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t go marching in to the palace district or Fort Drakon, and my boys are shit at keeping the alleys clear, but both the market and the docks are fairly neutral. If you need rooms, head to the Gnawed Noble; Edwina has no love of Teyrn Loghain or any nobles’ politics. She ought to be able to give you a quiet place to stay out of sight.”

“Thank you, Kylon.”

She fished around in a pouch at her belt for a sovereign, and he shook his head vehemently. “I’m not helping you for gold or anything else, miss,” he insisted. “Just promise me you’ll get that usurper out the palace if you get time around your Blight and that’s payment enough.”

Elissa frowned. “You’re certain?” she asked, and he nodded. “In that case, if there’s anything you need in the meantime, and you can’t find me, send word to Redcliffe. The Arl’s recovered from his illness, and if you tell him I sent you he should be able to help.”

She rejoined the others a short distance inside the gates. “The guard recommended an inn for us in the market that should be sympathetic,” she informed them. “I don’t know it personally, but I think Fergus used to drink there when we were visiting the city for Landsmeets and it should be a good source of news if nothing else.”

“You trust this guard?” Sten asked, frowning, and she nodded.

“I think we can, yes,” she replied as she led the way. “And if the inn he mentioned is the one I’m thinking of, then it’s discrete when it needs to be, but public enough that no one would dare start trouble. Plus, it’s just across the street from the Brother’s house.”

They received a number of looks from the citizens and guards both as they passed through the market place—some curious and others downright hostile—but no one made any moves toward them. The Gnawed Noble was indeed the inn Elissa remembered. While she arranged for rooms with Madam Edwina, Leliana and Sten delivered Genitivi back to his home and ensured he was settled safely.

Four rooms were available, and Elissa paid for each. She didn’t expect that it would take much more than a day to resupply and finish the various errands her companions expressed an interest in.

Edwina showed them upstairs, unlocking each room as they came to it. Morrigan claimed the first, all but daring anyone to try and join her as she took the key from the inn keeper. Zevran claimed another for himself and Sten, and Wynne took the next room for herself and Leliana to share.

“The two of you will be sharing then?” the woman asked with a smirk and a slightly raised eyebrow, glancing at first Alistair and then Elissa.

“That’s not going to be a problem is it, ma’am?” she smiled innocently. “I’m sure my friend in the first room will let me stay with her, and my friend here can stay with the other men, if you have a reputation you’re worried about keeping.”

The inn keeper laughed out loud. “Miss, the two of you sleepin’ in the same room is nothing compared to some of the scandals I’ve seen. Maker, when I worked in the palace decades ago, before buying this place...” The woman shook her head absently at the memory.

“Let’s just say two young people enjoying each other’s company is the least of my worries. I’m a bit more concerned by the gear you’re carrying, to be honest. You won’t find no trouble about it from me, but you might want to leave it in your room until time to leave the city.”

“We’ll do just that,” Elissa promised, accepting the key that was offered and passing it to Alistair. “Are meals at a certain time, or can we access the kitchen when we need?”

Edwina shrugged. “It’s a little of both, but I’ll bring yours up maybe an hour after sundown. Your friends should be fine down in the tavern, but I’d not recommend either of you showing your face too often if it can be helped.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Closing the door behind her, Elissa set down her packs and removed her sword belt but kept her dagger.

“You’re seriously going to go out there without your sword?” Alistair asked her, a bit shocked.

“I’ve still got my dagger,” she shrugged, “and you’ll still be armed. We’re just leaving my family’s sword and shield behind for now.”

“I- wait, we’re going _now_?” Alistair sputtered, suddenly realizing what she intended.

Elissa smiled. “Well, we don’t _have_ to, but considering how quickly Leliana had us leave last time, I thought we might get it done before we’re rushed out of town again.”

“Fine,” he sighed, removing the shield and placing it next to her sword in a corner. “But you owe me, Lissa. At _least_ three wheels of Orlesian cheese for bullying me into going so soon.”

“Of course I do, love,” she laughed, giving him a kiss before they made their way downstairs.

 

* * *

 

It took every inch of Elissa’s being not to beat the woman before her to death with the bitch’s own severed arm.

“I don’t know you, boy,” Goldanna sneered as she continued to cut Alistair down verbally. “Your royal father forced himself on my mother and took her away from me. And what do I got to show for it? _Nothing_. Oh, they tricked me good. I should have told everyone you were the king’s babe, but no, I did as I was told.”

She returned to her work while still fuming. “You know what, _dear brother_? I got five mouths to feed. Unless you can help with that, I got less than no use for you.”

He looked as if his heart were broken. “I... I’m sorry, I... I don’t know what to say...”

“Alistair came here to find his family, Goldanna,” Elissa finally snapped. “Even if you’re not able to be kind, you could at least be _polite_.”

“Well, he found it, not that it’s going to do any good for me.”

Elissa could cry she was so angry. “Let’s go, love,” she finally whispered, still glaring at Goldanna. “Your sister clearly died the same time your mother did.”

“Well that was... not what I expected, to put it lightly,” Alistair said softly once they were outside and the door was shut securely. “This is the family I’ve been wondering about all my life? That shrew is my sister? I can’t believe it. I... I guess I was expecting her to accept me without question. Isn’t that what family is supposed to do?”

She nodded. “A proper one, at least. But everyone’s out for themselves, love. You tell me exactly what’s on your mind any time I ask, but you give everyone else far too much credit, and do what they ask without question. You need to start looking out for Alistair more often. I don’t care if you let Eamon make you king, or stay a Grey Warden, or if we run away from both lives once this is all over. But whatever it is, I want it to be _your_ choice, not something you’re doing because everyone told you that you have no other options.”

“Yes... I suppose you’re right,” he mumbled. “Let’s just go. I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

 

* * *

 

It was nearly midnight when Zevran knocked softly on the door to Elissa and Alistair’s room. Moira wagged her stubby tail at the elf when Alistair let him in and he pet the dog absently.

“Our bard went after the woman hunting her a short while ago,” he reported grimly. “I followed her, but wasn’t able to get inside before the scuffle started. I was able to take care of _most_ of the guards the woman had before they reached our Leliana, but one of them was damned quick. He cut her pretty bad, but after I was able to take care of both him and the wench.”

The blood drained from Elissa’s face. “Is Leliana alright?”

“Bah, it is nothing the enchanter cannot correct. I simply felt you should know what happened.” He began to leave, then stopped at the door suddenly. “Oh, I almost forgot! I ran into a sailor friend of mine down by the Pearl. I asked her to stop by tomorrow morning to speak with you before we left; she may willing to take a message for the first group of Wardens she comes across, to send more this way for you.”

 

* * *

 

“Captain Isabela?!”

The Rivaini woman smiled when she saw Elissa, her arms wide to embrace the girl. “Well, if it isn’t Highever’s own runaway bride! What happened, kitten, your mother try to marry you off again? Decide to join the Wardens this time instead of running to Orlais?”

“Not quite the former, but a good bit of the latter,” Elissa smiled sadly. “Zevran says you might be willing to carry a message?”

“I can handle that,” she shrugged. “And I won’t even charge you this time, since we’re old friends. Have you got it written down? You know I’m shit with remembering these things.”

Alistair cleared his throat a bit as Elissa handed Isabela the letter she’d prepared. She gave him a questioning look, then realized she’d forgotten to introduce them.

“I’m so sorry! Love, this is Captain Isabela. I told you how I threatened to run away to Orlais last year; the captain here was helping me to make arrangements for the trip. Isabela, this is Alistair...” She hesitated before continuing. “...Another Warden.”

“Kitten, I told you before, only my boys have to call me ‘captain’. Just Bela’s good enough for you.”

Isabela sauntered over to Alistair and inspected him carefully, like one might a package that’d just been delivered. “Never had a Warden before,” she mused before glancing back at Elissa. “Mind if I have a go?”

Elissa nearly choked. “He’s spoken for,” she finally managed to get out, and Isabela laughed.

“You’re welcome to come along too,” Bela winked, and Elissa could feel her whole face go scarlet.

“I think it’s time we go,” she muttered as she began to gather her things.

“You Fereldans are so funny about these things,” Isabela commented, fiddling with one pants leg as if she weren’t used to the feel of it. “Wasn’t Andraste married to both that warlord and the Maker all at the same time? If the Maker can share, the lot of you should be allowed to as well.”

“Ah, well,” she shrugged. “I’d best be going, I suppose, and so should you probably. Have Zev find me if you change your mind about the sharing.”

“Goodbye, Isabela.”

Elissa shut the door behind Bela with a sigh. “I’m sorry about her, love. I had no idea she was the ‘sailor friend’ that Zevran mentioned last night.”

Alistair still stood slightly dumbstruck. “How in the blazes did you meet up with someone like _her_ in Highever? Do you even have a port there?”

“It’s not as large as here, or even Amaranthine, but yes. I don’t know what Isabela was doing there last spring, but after far too many drinks and not a few lewd songs she told me she was once in a similar situation as I was at the time. She wasn’t heading toward Orlais when she left, but she knew of a caravan that was and introduced me to its leader.”

“Let me get this straight,” he laughed suddenly. “ _You_ were drinking and singing in a dock-side tavern with a Rivaini pirate?”

Elissa sighed again. “Yes,” she admitted finally. “In hindsight, it was probably the singing that got word of my little plot back to my mother a few days later. If I’d just kept my mouth shut no one would probably have even noticed me.”

“You’re going to have to teach me some of those songs, you know,” he grinned, and she threw one of the packs at him as she laughed.

“And you can sleep in the snow tonight, too.”

They met the others downstairs a few minutes later. Edwina wasn’t anywhere to be found, so Elissa returned their keys to the bartender instead and they left. She watched Leliana carefully as they went; the Orlesian woman was quieter than usual and had a slight limp, but she technically appeared to be whole. Elissa made a mental note to speak with her friend once they set up camp that evening.

They entered the northern edges of the Brecilian Forests perhaps three hours south of Denerim, and continued along the eastern side of the slowly growing Southron Hills. It was still bitterly cold, but at least here in the forest there was little snow.

“I lived with a Dalish tribe for a time,” Zevran chatted somewhere behind Elissa to anyone willing to listen. “My mother was Dalish, after all, and I was curious about her people. Alas, all the fresh air and clean living did not agree with me.”

“And I do not recall anyone here requesting your autobiography,” Morrigan called coldly from near the rear of the group.

“ _¡Misericordia, no!_ Oh, my dark minx, you absolutely must hear the tale!”

Glancing at them, Elissa saw Zevran trotting back to Morrigan and wrapping an arm around her. The witch wore a look of shocked disgust as she stared at the elf’s hand on her shoulder, and Elissa had to turn forward again before she was caught laughing at the two. Zevran continued his tale as they continued through the woods, completely ignoring Morrigan’s attempts to evade him, until they finally stopped a short while to let Leliana rest while they ate.

“That was quite bold, allowing Zevran to annoy Morrigan so,” the bard commented as Elissa sat next to her on a fallen log.

“Morrigan could use some forced socialization sometimes,” Elissa grinned back, and Leliana laughed.

“Nonetheless, perhaps Wynne or I should prepare our meals for the next few nights. You and Zevran both are liable to become quite ill otherwise. Where did she go, by the way?”

Elissa shrugged. “She said she was going to range ahead some, probably because she figures Zevran can’t follow her that way. What I haven’t been able to figure out is how she covers so much ground when she does go out like this.”

“You mean you don’t know?” the bard gasped in shock.

“Know what?”

Leliana stole a glance back at Alistair, who was busy throwing a stick for Moira to chase and bring back. Satisfied that his attention was elsewhere, the bard’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“Elissa, Morrigan transforms into different animals when she travels ahead of us. A wolf or falcon are the two I have witnessed most often, but that first night in Redcliffe, when we fought off those corpses, she took the form of a great bear to fight alongside Sten.

For a very long time the young Warden didn’t reply, her brow creased as she chewed on one thumb. She remembered seeing the bear during that battle, but had almost convinced herself since then that it had been her imagination.

“Andraste’s ass,” she finally swore quietly as she glanced back at her prince and her hound. “You know how he’s going to react when he finally finds out, don’t you?”

The bard nodded. “That’s why I’ve not brought it up before now. Granted, I assumed you knew and were simply not mentioning it for that very reason.”

“No, I should have figured it out, but I hadn’t. Maker’s breath, this is going to be a headache,” she sighed, rubbing her temples.

“Are you well enough to get going again?” she finally asked the bard. “Zevran said you were cut up pretty badly last night, so just say so whenever you need rest.”

Leliana’s gaze darkened a bit. “Thank you, but I am fine. Last night was... difficult, in multiple ways, but it is over now.”

 

* * *

 

The nightmares returned to both Wardens the deeper they ventured into the forest. Elissa’s came first, on the second night, and Alistair did his best to keep her distracted from the terrors she saw in her dreams. Whenever she woke in a panic they would talk about anything else they could think of—their plans for the next day’s travel, the stew that Wynne had made that night, even the lyrics to the songs she had learned from Isabela the spring before.

When the dreams struck him as well by the fourth night, Alistair became much more somber. They spent much of that night lying silently in their tent, neither one willing to speak _or_ sleep. The fifth night he refused to come to bed at all, so she sat with him by the fire while he kept watch.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” he said suddenly. “When we left Goldanna’s house, you said I need to watch out for myself more often. I’ve been thinking about it since then, and I think I’m going to actually try my best at the Landsmeet when Eamon finally gets it organized."

Elissa realized with a start that she’d nearly dozed off staring into the fire. “Wait, what?”

“I thought that might get your attention,” he chuckled while she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “I mean it, though. I don’t really want to be _king_ , but once the Archdemon’s dead there’s really not any way for me to actually _help_ people if I stay with the Wardens. And what I want to do is help people.”

She frowned. “That makes sense, I suppose. Not only Eamon but my own father would make the same argument, that we as nobles exist to care for our people, and your father _was_ King Maric. Every man, woman, and child in Ferelden make up your people.”

“So you’re not angry with me for deciding to be king?”

Elissa sighed dramatically. “I suppose if that’s your honest reasoning for it, I don’t have much choice, do I, your Majesty? I’m the one who told you to do what _you_ wanted, after all.”

“What about you?”

This time she honestly did sigh. “Well, I suppose my first duty is to find Fergus, if Teagan hasn’t already, and retake Highever. Fergus will be teyrn if he’s alive and well, but he’ll still need someone to command his troops. Depending on how he takes the news of Oriana and Oren’s deaths, he may need me to be his heir. And if he’s not alive...”

“...then you’ll become teyrna,” he finished for her.

“Exactly. I’d probably even be good at ruling, too. But Father had me trained ‘just-in-case’ Fergus couldn’t become teyrn himself. I was never actually _meant_ to reach that position. Just like any other good girl, I was supposed to put my sword and armor away eventually, find a husband, and give him hell for the rest of his natural life.”

“Considering you’ve already tried to make a run for it once, I somehow doubt you’d ever let that happen,” he laughed.

She shrugged in reply. “I just don’t like others making my decisions for me, is all. Is that so wrong?”

Alistair hugged her close, still laughing. “Not at all, love. Not at all.”


	20. The People

_“We are the Dalish:_   
_keepers of the lost lore,  
_ _walkers of the lonely path.  
_ _We are the last of the Elvhenan,  
_ _and never again shall we submit.”_

 

“ _Andaran atish’an, shemlen,_ ” a voice called out as the Wardens and their companions made their way across an icy stream deep in the forest on the sixth afternoon. “ _Ar tu na’lin emma mi._ ”

“ _Atisha, elvhen,_ ” Morrigan replied as she climbed out the shallow water and back up the bank. “ _Emma mamae Asha’belannar. Dirth shemlen?_ ”

An elf stepped out of the brush, bow held ready. “You are truly _Asha’belannar’len?_ ” he asked suspiciously, to which Morrigan nodded.

“What does _Asha’belannar_ require of the People?” another elf demanded, emerging from the brush a short distance away. Her hands hovered near a pair of daggers on her belt.

“My mother requires nothing of the People. However, two of my companions are Grey Wardens, and they require assistance against the oncoming Blight.”

The two elves conferred quietly in their own tongue, their tones urgent. Finally the woman approached Morrigan. “A small number of your companions may approach our camp, but the rest must remain here,” she informed the witch. “I would prefer you leave entirely; however, if your companions are indeed Wardens, the Keeper will want to speak with them.”

“ _Ma nuvenin_ ,” Morrigan bowed respectfully to the two elves before turning to Elissa. “You and Alistair will obviously come, to discuss your treaty with the elven Keeper. Who else will you have join us?”

Elissa considered this a moment. Sten’s appearance was more than slightly intimidating, and Zevran had all but admitted that first day in the woods that he was not welcomed among the Dalish. She had been on better terms with Wynne since returning from Haven, but was uncertain if the mage or Leliana would be more useful in dealing with the elves.

“Just the three of us will go for now,” she finally decided. “We can always come back for the others if we need to for any reason.”

As Elissa gave instructions to the others to set up camp and wait for them nearby, Morrigan returned to the two elves, speaking quietly with them in their language. The only elves that had worked in Highever’s castle were hired and moved out of the local alienage, so she never had the opportunity to learn Elvish the way she had Orlesian, Antivan, and a small bit of Qunari. She wondered idly as she and Alistair rejoined Morrigan if she could talk the witch into teaching her while in camp each evening, then decided against it—the last thing she needed was Alistair and Morrigan in close quarters while she studied, constantly arguing with one another.

They had started on their way when Moira suddenly bounded passed them and stopped in the middle of the path, her stub wagging enthusiastically. Elissa smiled at the hound. “So when it’s mages that I’m going to talk to, you want to stay behind. But when I go meet the elves you’re eager to come along?”

Moira barked happily.

“Just make sure not to go hunting until I tell you that you’re allowed to, understand? I don’t know if this tribe has rules about their land or not.” She was answered with another bark, and Elissa finally nodded to Morrigan and the elves that they were ready to go.

The clan’s camp was only about two miles away, and Elissa and Alistair both stared in shock when they arrived to find nearly half of the nomadic tribe sick or wounded, quarantined away from the rest.

“Maker’s breath,” she breathed in horror. “What happened here?”

“That’s for Keeper Zathrian to tell you, if he wishes you to know,” the elf snapped at her as she led them through the camp’s strange, sailed carriages to where an oddly ageless man tended to the ill. They waited in silence as he completed his tasks, hands glowing slightly as he chanted over his patient.

“ _Ma seranas, lethallan_ , for guiding these Wardens to me” he finally said quietly. The Keeper studied each of them in turn with a curious look. “It seems only two of you are Wardens, but no matter. I am Zathrian, Keeper of this clan. I presume you are here to demand the Dalish’s assistance against the Blight?”

“I would never _demand_ your assistance, ser,” she began, “but the treaties do state that the Dalish pledged their aid. If one clan did not honor the agreement, I would have to find another.”

Zathrian gestured toward one of the carriages for them to follow as he spoke. “As you can see, my clan is in no condition to go to war. The Sabrae are the only other clan that might have been receptive to your plea, Wardens, and they left Ferelden for the Free Marches almost half a year ago.”

“What of Ilshae?” Morrigan spoke up. “Her clan should be travelling the coast now, should they not?”

“They would kill you before you knew they had found you,” the Keeper laughed bitterly. “I hold no love for your kind, shemlen, but I understand the obligation my predecessors have placed on my people. Ilshae’s First does not know the respect for such agreements, and will not honor them.”

Elissa glanced back at the quarantined elves. “What happened to your clan?” she asked quietly. “Why are so many of them injured and ill?”

The Keeper was silent a long time. “A week ago we were attacked by a band of cursed beasts,” he admitted. “The majority of those injured died that day, but some others lingered, and the curse grows in them now. My First and I have done what we can to make them comfortable, to ease their pain, but none of those stricken have recovered.”

“There’s no cure?”

“I did not say that,” Zathrian replied grimly. “But just as I cannot spare any of my clan to fight your war, I cannot spare them to retrieve the component required to break the curse on my people.”

Pacing, Elissa chewed on her thumb. “What if my friends and I were to find the component you needed?” she asked suddenly. “If we brought back whatever you needed, could you heal your people, and then send assistance once enough of your clan has recovered?”

Zathrian considered this. “That could be arranged,” he finally conceded. “Provided, of course, you retrieve the component swiftly enough that no more of my people fall victim of the curse. Come. I will introduce you to my First, and she will give you the instructions you will need.”

 

* * *

 

“Lissa, are you _sure_ you haven’t been listening to Leliana too much lately? I mean, I know that Lanaya girl seemed genuine, but there’s no such thing as werewolves.”

“Oh, yes, Alistair,” Morrigan goaded. “Because you clearly know all there is to know about the various inhabitants of the world.”

“I know there’s no such thing as werewolves,” he muttered to himself as he kicked at a rock in the path, and Elissa sighed in frustration. Alistair and Morrigan had reverted to their old bickering the moment both their other companions and all the elves were out of earshot.

“I don’t care if there’s such a thing as werewolves or not,” she told them both irritably. “But there’s certainly something going on here, and if we don’t get to the bottom of it, we won’t get the elves’ help against the darkspawn.”

Pausing, she glanced at the sky through the trees to try and gauge how much daylight remained. “If we haven’t found anything in an hour we’ll set up camp and start again in the morning.”

Morrigan shook her head. “Actually, we’d do better to stop now. I’d like to get a look at what’s ahead of us while there’s still light to see by.”

“What, can’t you see in the dark when you change?” Elissa retorted, not realizing what she’d said until it was already out.

_Fuck._

Alistair looked at both Elissa and Morrigan in confusion. “Wait, what am I missing here?”

“Just show him,” she ordered the witch harshly.

Morrigan shrugged. “Very well,” she replied, and the air around her shimmered slightly. On the log where she sat just a moment before a black owl perched, its golden eyes blinking calmly as the setting sun reflected a violet sheen off its ebony feathers.

Alistair jumped away with a yelp of shock, and the owl shimmered back into Morrigan. “I could have told you he would not be receptive,” she commented idly to Elissa, who stood with her face in her hands.

“Wait a second... you were the bear we saw in Redcliffe!”

The witch clapped in mock approval. “Ah, so you _are_ perceptive after all. Although I am not terribly surprised you were the last to discover the truth.”

“I always knew you were a godless killing machine, Morrigan, but Andraste’s ass, do you have to flaunt it like that?”

“I do _not_ flaunt my abilities,” Morrigan sniffed indignantly. “If I had, you would have been changed into a _much_ more appropriate form ere we even reached Lothering. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a good bit of ground to cover tonight.”

With that she shimmered again, this time into a proud wolf, and loped off into the forest.


	21. The Lady

At Shartan’s word, the sky  
Grew black with arrows.  
At Our Lady’s, ten thousand swords  
Rang from their sheaths,  
A great hymn rose over Valarian Fields gladly proclaiming:  
Those who had been slaves were now free.  
 _-Shartan 10:1, Dissonant Verse_

 

The two Wardens found shelter not far from where Morrigan left them the night before and had built up a small fire to keep warm as they waited. The darkspawn’s song rang loudly in their minds, so instead of going to the trouble of setting up the tent they each took turns napping while the other kept watch.

Moira’s head lifted from where the hound sat near the fire, a growl low in her throat, and Elissa was instantly alert, hand already moving toward her sword. But when the wolf trotted casually into their clearing her hound relaxed and made a curious noise.

“Morrigan?” Elissa asked cautiously, and the wolf shimmered back into the familiar form of the witch.

“Aye,” she replied as she surveyed their miniature camp. “Hurry and wake your fool. There are things to discuss, and I will not have him fumbling through this business any more than is usual.”

She didn’t offer any further explanation, so Elissa gently shook Alistair awake while Morrigan helped herself to their rations for breakfast. He mumbled groggily a bit, and right on cue Elissa offered him some bread and a small block of hard cheese.

Morrigan waited a few moments while he shook off the worst of the sleep, then crossed the camp and took his face by the chin, glaring darkly. “I have brought a messenger from deep in the forest to speak with Elissa. _You_ will keep your mouth shut, and your sword sheathed, do you understand?”

He nodded numbly, and the witch released his jaw. She returned to the edge of the camp, staring out into the woods. “Swiftrunner! They are as prepared to meet you as they’ll ever be,” she called out, and Elissa suddenly became aware of three large bodies moving toward them through the early morning gloom.

“What in the-”

She heard Alistair scramble to his feet behind her as she stared at the three beasts that approached. Each was at least as tall as Sten, and though they were clearly canine, they stood on two legs as a man would. The largest came all the way into the clearing, while its—no, Elissa realized, slightly surprised, _his_ —companions held back thirty feet or so.

“You are sent by the treacherous Dalish to kill Witherfang,” he growled. “The Lady has sent me to warn you that the wolves of the forest will not stand by and allow this to happen.”

Elissa tried to find her voice. “We only come looking for a cure to the curse afflicting the Dalish,” she finally whispered in reply. “If you have another solution I might listen, but dozens of the elves are dying as we speak.”

“Hrr... I would say kill all the Dalish, but the Lady disagrees. If you would speak with the Lady, she might have an answer for you, human.”

She glanced at Morrigan in confusion, but the witch shrugged almost imperceptibly. “Swiftrunner came to me in peace, requesting to speak with you, but did not provide any detail what of.”

“Will you parley with the Lady or not, human?” Swiftrunner demanded impatiently.

“I suppose I have no choice.”

 

* * *

 

The ruin was immense, filled with carvings that Elissa could never hope to identify and yet which seemed to contradict each other at every turn. In one chamber they took the form of delicate calligraphy; in the next, they were harsh runes with sharp angles. Yet a third script seemed almost to glow of its own accord, the lettering resembling that of common Thedosian but the words themselves foreign.

“Elvish, Dwarven, and Ancient Tevinter,” Morrigan explained when asked about the carvings.

Elissa frowned. “That doesn’t seem like a group of cultures that would have lived together very peacefully.”

“They wouldn’t have,” the witch confirmed. “Most likely the dwarves built this structure, and the elves and the magisters would have come later, after it was abandoned.”

“When the darkspawn attacked during the second Blight,” Elissa remembered from her lessons. She had learned from her tutors that Gwaren, a week or two south of where they were, had once been a dwarven outpost that had been abandoned during the Divine Age due to darkspawn overrunning the Deep Roads. It stood to reason that any other outposts in the area would have been likewise left to their fates.

They continued in near silence for several hours, broken only when Swiftrunner would stop to warn them of areas where the ruin had crumbled dangerously, or when they were set upon by undead creatures not unlike those they faced in Redcliffe, though the bodies here were far less fresh.

“Is it much farther?” Alistair asked the wolf at one point, and was answered with a deep growl.

“Short path is safe for leaving, but dangerous for coming. The Lady says I’m to bring you to Her safely, so we take the long path to Her. The impatient human will be silent now.”

Alistair glanced about at the ruin around them, unconvinced. “I somehow find it hard to believe that this is the safe path,” he muttered, but said nothing else.

Elissa couldn’t help but to agree. Not only had she lost all sense of time and direction in this maze of a ruin, but between the battles and the way the stonework crumbled in half the chambers certainly made her wonder what could be more treacherous about the alternate route.

After an eternity Swiftrunner led them to a decrepit room that was nearly reclaimed by the roots of the massive trees from the forest above. In the center stood a dark pool, which he descended into without causing so much as a ripple. When they didn’t immediately follow, he returned irritably, still not disrupting the water’s surface.

“Why do the humans hesitate?” he growled. “The Lady’s sanctum is below. You must follow if you will speak with her.”

Morrigan followed when he disappeared again, and Elissa and Alistair exchanged a nervous look. She approached the pool and tested it with the toe of one boot. The surface roiled ever so slightly, like liquid smoke. “Swiftrunner came back through it again,” she ventured uncertainly.

Alistair eyed the black water. “Are we really going into that, love?” he asked her incredulously.

She raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Do you remember the way out?”

“No,” he sulked. “Forward it is, then.”

Elissa stepped nervously into the pool, almost tripping as her feet found their places on the step hidden below its surface. Even though she could look down and see the darkness coiling around her calves, her feet and legs still felt completely dry. She continued on, and instinctively began to hold her breath just before ducking her head under the surface.

She was shocked when there was no change to her surroundings at all—no cloud of smoke around her head, and as she took the last few steps, no smoke, water, or any other substance above her. The only thing to see at the top of the stairs was Alistair cautiously inching his way down just as she had a moment before.

This part of the ruin was much older than the chambers they’d previously passed through. Much like the room containing the pool and its hidden stair, the forest above was actively working to reclaim this area as part of its territory once again, and by the looks of things it was succeeding. Swiftrunner led them through two good sized halls before pausing at a bend in the corridor after the second hall.

“The Lady is beyond,” he informed them gruffly. “The humans will mind their manners when they parley with the Lady; the humans will likewise remember that my brothers and sisters will rip your bodies to nothing if you betray the Lady’s confidence in you.”

When Elissa nodded her understanding, Swiftrunner turned and led them through the corridor and into the final chamber. Dozens of the wolves had gathered here, and each one openly snarled as the humans passed them on the way to the dais at the far end of the hall. There stood four more wolves in a small group, which Swiftrunner joined, and from among them emerged one of the most beautiful—and alien—women that Elissa had ever seen.

A tangle of vines covered her arms, legs and lower abdomen, giving the impression that she simply grew out of the ground where she stood, while her impossibly long hair hung darkly over the rest of her body, concealing just enough of her moss-agate skin to maintain a semblance of modesty, yet leaving very little to the imagination. The only imperfection was the expression of deepest sorrow written in her onyx eyes as she studied Elissa and her companions.

“I bid you welcome, mortal,” she greeted them calmly, bowing her head slightly. “I am the Lady of the Forest. I know what it is you came here for, but I am afraid that giving Zathrian Witherfang’s heart will not break the curse upon his people.”

Elissa frowned. “How do you know this?”

“I know this because there are things that Zathrian has not told you regarding the curse, especially its origin.”

“Like what?”

The Lady looked at her sadly. “It was Zathrian who created the curse that these creatures suffer, the same curse that Zathrian’s own people suffer. Centuries ago, when the Dalish first came to this land, a tribe of humans lived close to this forest. They sought to drive the Dalish away. Zathrian was a young man then. He had a son and daughter he loved greatly, and while out hunting the human tribe captured them both.”

“The humans... tortured the boy, killed him,” Swiftrunner growled from the Lady’s side. “The girl, they raped and left for dead. The Dalish found her, took her home, but then she found she was with child. She took her life, rather than live with the shame of bearing a human child.”

“And so Zathrian sought revenge for the murder of his family,” Elissa whispered. The circumstances were much different, but she felt a sudden twinge of guilty recognition as she remembered the slaughter of her own family at Howe’s hands. How much of her pledge to win back Highever was the product of her sense of duty, and how much of it was mere bloodlust? She decided quickly that she didn’t want to know.

“Zathrian came to this ruin and summoned a terrible spirit, binding it to the body of a great wolf. So Witherfang came to be. Witherfang hunted the humans of the tribe at _Zathrian’s_ order. Many were killed, but others were cursed by his blood. Those who survived became twisted, savage beasts.” The Lady hung her head regretfully. “Twisted and savage just as Witherfang himself is. The ones suffering the curse were driven into the forest. When the human tribe finally left for good, their cursed brethren remained among the wood as mindless animals.”

“Until I found you, my Lady,” Swiftrunner said simply, kneeling reverently at the Lady’s feet. “You gave me peace.”

“I showed Swiftrunner that there was another side to his bestial nature. I soothed his rage, and his humanity emerged. After that, he brought others to me that they also could be calmed.”

A grain of doubt took root deep in Elissa’s mind as she listened to their story. “But... if the wolves are regaining their humanity, why send them to attack the Dalish?”

“We seek to end the curse,” the Lady stated simply. “The crimes committed against Zathrian’s children were grave, but they were committed centuries ago by those who are long dead. Originally, I merely meant to have Zathrian brought here to speak with him, much as we are speaking now. His people reacted with understandable suspicion and, unfortunately, violence. My wolves may be more civilized than they once were, but they are not above holding grudges of their own. The battle was unfortunately inevitable.”

“We spread the curse to his people!” Swiftrunner interrupted, and the Lady reached for him to smooth his fur. “If his people are afflicted, he will be forced to end the curse to save them!”

The Lady approached Elissa and took both her hands. “Please, mortal. You must go to Zathrian. Bring him here. If he sees these creatures and hears their plight... surely he will agree to end the curse!”

Elissa stood staring back at the woman—spirit—helplessly for a few moments. There was absolutely no deceit in the Lady’s expression; only one of pain and regret, and it pained her not to help. But at the same time, Zathrian’s support against the Blight hinged on destroying the forest’s savage beasts and their leader.

“I’ll do it on one condition,” she answered finally. “There is a Blight growing in the wilds, and the Dalish are sworn to support the Grey Wardens when the time finally comes to face it. As long as the curse remains, Zathrian doesn’t have enough healthy clansmen to send to our aid. If he refuses, or is unable to lift the curse, I’ll need soldiers to replace his hunters. I would like Swiftrunner and the other wolves to take that responsibility, should the Dalish not be able to do so themselves.”

The Lady considered this. “Your proposal seems fair, mortal. Were the threat anything else, I would say that it does not concern us, but a Blight is a threat to all. Yes, if the elves refuse to lend their aid, we will do so in their place.”

The wolves cleared a path to a door at one side of the chamber, and Swiftrunner led them to it. “Short path is here. We will leave it open until you return with the Keeper, so you can avoid the long path. We will make certain that the short path remains safe for coming so you can use it again.”

Elissa nodded her thanks before she and the others climbed the stairs beyond the door. She heard Morrigan commenting idly behind her that she was curious how the she intended to convince Zathrian to come meet with the wolves, and the Warden had to admit that she didn’t know herself how she was going to manage to do so. She didn’t have to wonder long, however, as when they exited into the first great hall of the ruin’s main floor, the elf stood patiently waiting for them.

The elf looked at her eagerly at first, but then he darkened. “You do not have the heart,” he stated, almost accusingly.

“No, I don’t. You left out some very important information about the curse that I should have known before coming out here.”

Zathrian laughed bitterly. “Let me guess—you spoke with the Lady, and she told you about my children. You do realize that the Lady and Witherfang are one in the same, don’t you?”

“I’d gathered as much. Is it true that your children were attacked centuries ago? I know I’m a bit ignorant when it comes to the elves, but I thought your race lost its immortality during the Tevinter rule.”

He glared at her hatefully for a long time. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking me to do, _shemlen_?”

_How could he be such a selfish fool?_

“I know exactly what I’m asking, Keeper,” she answered, struggling to keep her voice level. “What happened to your children was horrendous. I know, because my entire family was also slaughtered, right down to my six year old nephew. But the men who earned your vengeance died centuries ago. Now not only do others suffer, who are  completely innocent, but your own people now suffer as well. Let it go.”

“But... they must not go unpunished.”

“They _have_ been punished, Zathrian. Now you punish only innocents.”

He let his head hang, but Elissa couldn’t tell if it was in regret, or merely exhaustion. “Very well,” he said finally, looking at her again. “Lead me to where the Lady waits, and I will release them. But know that I agree to this only because my own suffer as well. When it is over, Lanaya will provide you with support against your Blight.”


	22. Witch of the Wilds

_We stand upon the precipice of change.  
_ _The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss.  
_ _Watch for that moment... and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap.  
_ _It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly._

 

They stayed with the Dalish for the next week, helping the clan while its members gradually recovered. Lanaya provided them with a few _aravels_ to stay in, rather than having them camp in the dirt. It was much different than anything Elissa had ever experienced, with the landship’s flowing sails arcing over her in the wind as she slept, but at least they all were able to get out of the cold and into warm beds for a few nights.

The Dalish themselves were somewhere between merely cautious of the outsiders’ presence and outright suspicious of it. They all knew that Elissa and Alistair were Grey Wardens, and so they were moderately well tolerated. But the others were avoided at all costs by all but the smallest children, whose curiosity overcame their caution.

It was their second morning in the elven encampment when Morrigan accompanied Elissa to gather firewood to replenish the camp’s supply. Not surprisingly, the witch asked again that Elissa consider going to “take care of” Flemeth on their way back to Redcliffe, before going to recruit the dwarves in Orzammar.

“I’m telling you, Elissa, if we take the Brecilian Passage rather than looping north around the damned hills surrounding this forest, the trip to Redcliffe will be at least two weeks shorter than if you go through Denerim. And that _includes_ handling my problem.”

Elissa sighed in frustration. “I can’t just march up and say, ‘oh, good afternoon, Flemeth; I’m here to kill you now, do you mind standing still while I get my sword?’”

“If you’re worried about having a clean conscience, just remember that she _is_ a killer and _most certainly_ will defend herself,” Morrigan replied, rolling her eyes. “And while it is not safe for me to be there when it happens, I can certainly prepare you all for the battle, that she not overwhelm you.”

They both fell silent for a while as they continued to gather wood. Finally, Elissa spoke up again, “Morrigan, you’re absolutely certain that you’re reading the grimoire correctly?”

“The ritual is described in exquisite detail, from the components required to the appropriate time in the new host’s life so that the soul can settle itself into the new body with little to no resistance. I do not _think_ she will take the risk of possessing me while the Blight surrounds us, but her window of opportunity will soon close.”

“She fears the Blight even more than the rest of us, doesn’t she?”

“It is far more likely she fears what she would become if corrupted by it,” Morrigan replied vaguely. “Should any human be infected, they would wither until they became ghouls. Mother, though... She would most certainly become something more.”

“What do you mean?” Elissa didn’t like the sound of this; Morrigan was clearly not revealing everything she knew.

“Simply that a mage of her... power... could, if corrupted, become an absolute terror. And that is to say nothing of the monstrosities that would result were she to somehow be transformed into one of their broodmothers.”

“What’s a—”

“—broodmother?” Morrigan finished for her. “Darkspawn do not breed as mortals do; there is no mother darkspawn and father darkspawn who love each other very much. Rather, they more resemble insects, or perhaps dragons, with a single breeding female within the entire nest.”

Elissa shivered, more at the imagined sensation of a thousand insects against her skin than at the cold or the damp around her. “Should I even ask where the broodmothers come from?”

“Oh, I think you know that already.”

 

* * *

 

“You told her _what_?”

It had taken Elissa quite a few days to find a way to talk to Alistair about her eventual promise to Morrigan that they would deal with Flemeth. To be fair, he was taking the news better than she might have.

“ _Technically_ , Flemeth made me promise that no harm would come to Morrigan,” she hedged. “Raising generations of daughters like sacrificial lambs to be slaughtered for your own immortality certainly falls into the harming category.”

“Love, she’s the Witch of the Wilds! You just said yourself that she’s immortal, so _how_ exactly are you planning to kill her?”

“Only immortal in that one sense,” she corrected him. “Morrigan assures me that each individual body _is_ mortal and _can_ be killed.”

“I swear, I should lock you up when we get back to Redcliffe and tell Valena not to let you out of your rooms until time for the Landsmeet,” he muttered with his face in his hands. He lifted his head suddenly as his face went pale. “Maker’s breath, Elissa, you’re planning on doing this before we get to Redcliffe next, aren’t you?”

She hesitated before answering. “Well, it _will_ be much faster if we take the Brecilian Passage, and we’ll have to pass through the northern edge of the Wilds anyway by that point...”

“And if I refuse to help?”

The challenge hung in the air between them for several long seconds before Elissa grinned. “Someone has to guard Morrigan while the rest of us are facing Flemeth, just in case she’s somehow possessed in spite of it all. I was going to ask Sten to do it, but if you’d rather her company to her mother’s...”

Alistair glanced involuntarily to where Morrigan sat on the other side of the camp and his shoulders slumped in defeat. “I hate you,” he sulked.

“No, you don’t,” she laughed, kissing him. “And besides which, do you really think there’s a single lock in Redcliffe castle I can’t find my way around?”

The rest of that day and all of the next passed quickly as they continued to help Lanaya get the clan back on its feet. The elves were now much more comfortable around them all than when they’d come back from the ruins nearly a week prior, but Elissa was surprised nonetheless when one of the younger boys came to her that final evening to ask that she speak with Varathorn immediately. Curious, she excused herself and followed the boy to the craftsman’s aravel. She was surprised to see Lanaya and all the clan’s elders awaiting her there.

“It is not the Dalish’s way to accept charity, Lady Warden,” the young new Keeper stated formally when she saw Elissa approach. “We are bound to aid you against the Blight by the agreements of our ancestors, but that obligation is one that we fulfill from times long past. In spite of your own troubles, however, you have done great services for our clan; you have saved our people from destruction by our own misguided hand, and you have aided us since that we might regain our strength.”

She paused and made a small gesture to Varathorn, who proudly uncovered a suit of exquisite armor laid out on his main work table.

“’Tis ironbark, my lady,” he explained as Elissa marveled over the suit. “Strong as the best shemlen steel; only dragon scale offers better protection. Usually such armor would be heavier, for use while hunting large game, but I managed to modify the design that you’ll have better range of motion than is typical with the material.”

“The clan would have you wear it, _lethallan_ , in the battles that you soon will face,” Lanaya spoke up as Elissa let the fingers of one hand brush across the cuirass. Each of the leaf-like scales was as thin and light as white birch, and they were stitched to the undercoat with the finest silverite thread. In spite of their delicacy, the scales were entirely unyielding.

Elissa was speechless. One of the elders called over one of the clan’s youths, a red-haired girl named Gheyna. “Help the Warden with her new equipment, _Da’len_ ,” he instructed, and the girl carefully collected the gear from the table.

“Lanaya, this is far too much for me to accept,” Elissa protested, finally finding her voice, but the elf waved her concerns aside.

“It is for us to decide what is a worthy price for your help, _lethallan_ ,” the Keeper smiled. “You have earned this and more. If ever there is anything you need of the Dalish, Blight or otherwise, we will answer your call.”

“Thank you, Keeper.”

 

* * *

 

The next morning dawned cold, and Elissa huddled against Alistair in their blankets, knowing that once she got out of bed she would be abandoning her last chance at comfort for the next few weeks. She was already hungry, though, and if she was hungry so early, she knew Alistair would be starving sooner than later.

She got up and munched on some dried fruit from one of her packs, and noticed Moira’s whining from just outside. The dog had figured out how to let herself out of the aravel on the first night they stayed with the Dalish, but had yet to figure out a way back into it. She cracked the door so her hound could get inside, slamming it shut immediately after to block out the chill. It was open just long enough to wake Alistair, though, and he whined sleepily when he realized she wasn’t in bed any longer.

“You have _got_ to get over this whole up-with-the-sun bit, love. I swear, I thought I’d gotten away from that when I left the templars.”

“Somehow I doubt that Duncan let you sleep in on a regular basis,” Elissa laughed, tossing him the bag of fruit so she could begin to get dressed. Gheyna had spent over an hour the night before showing her where each of the hidden clasps were and how to fasten and unfasten them, but Elissa still felt awkward in her new armor.

Alistair rummaged through the bag, picking out random bits here and there. “Well, maybe not _often_ , but on occasion, at least.” He paused, grimacing, “Unless we were all hung over, of course. Those mornings he had us up and moving sinfully early, even if it took dumping buckets of icy water on us if we weren’t awake when he decided we should be.”

Smiling, Elissa leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. “I’m going to go check on the others, and see how long it’ll be until we can get moving.”

“What if I just go back to sleep for half an hour?”

“I’m sure Lanaya will lend me a bucket, dear,” she said sweetly, patting his cheek briefly before letting herself outside.

 

* * *

 

Their goodbyes to the Dalish were brief, taking enough time only to give Lanaya instructions to send her men to Redcliffe when the time came. Once they were well out of range of the camp Morrigan changed into her wolf form and loped off ahead of them.

“I will _never_ get used to that,” Alistair shuddered as he watched her go.

The next few days were quiet, and everyone fell back into their regular routine as the party continued south from the Dalish camp to the Brecilian Passage, the one and only land route through the hills and the forest to the city of Gwaren.

Unfortunately, with winter progressing slowly toward spring the snows had devolved into a mix of ice and rain, and this mix made it through the forest canopy much more effectively than the snows alone had. Dry firewood was hard to come by, and Elissa had taken to wearing three pairs of socks at a time to try and keep her feet warm. They moved slowly at best, sometimes as few as five or six hours in a day, and a full week had passed before they reached the Passage itself.

With each passing day, Elissa became more and more nervous about her chosen course of action. Morrigan had already begun to instruct the others of the proper tactics they should use when facing Flemeth, but the closer they came to the Wilds, the less confident Elissa was that she’d chosen the correct path. She owed Flemeth not only for rescuing her and Alistair from Ostagar, but for every luxury she’d ever known for as long as she could remember. If not for Flemeth’s murder of Conobar, the Couslands would never have assumed control of Highever, and would never have raised the territory from a mere bannorn to the teynir it now was.

And yet here she was, two nights into the Wilds and actively planning to kill the Witch of the Wilds the very next morning.

“Having second thoughts?” Leliana asked her quietly, sitting next to her near the fire that night in camp.

Elissa sighed, and gave her friend a strained smile. “Not really, I suppose. I’m just nervous. You don’t just walk up and murder a legend, even one with such a dark reputation, lightly.”

The bard added a log to the fire and sat back a moment before replying. “That’s something I wanted to talk to you about, actually,” she began. “I’ve spoken with the others, and we feel you should probably stay behind with Morrigan and Sten when we leave tomorrow morning.”

“You _what_?”

“Alistair and I told them you’d take this badly,” she laughed ruefully. “Morrigan tells me you were nearly killed by some sort of blood magic the cultists in Haven used, magic that Alistair was able to resist due to his templar training and that Zevran and Morrigan avoided because they could attack at range. This is true, yes?”

“...Perhaps,” she finally admitted.

“In that case, I agree with Morrigan’s recommendation that you remain here. Zevran and I can pick away at Flemeth from a distance, Wynne can cast the spells required both for offense and defense, and Alistair should be able to neutralize at least a portion of Flemeth’s magic. You, however, must attack at close range, and do not have the protections that Alistair does.”

Elissa sulked in silence for a long while, and she realized that she hadn’t seen Alistair for nearly an hour. “He put you up to this, didn’t he?” she finally accused.

“It was... a group effort,” Leliana smiled, understanding her frustration. “He expressed concern, yes. But Morrigan made the recommendation and I volunteered to deliver you the news.”

“You’d better bring him back to me whole, Lil.”

“I swear I will, dear,” the bard promised with a mischievous smile. “Now go get cleaned up and get to bed. You should probably give him a proper send-off tonight—for morale, if nothing else.”

 

* * *

 

The waiting was the hardest part. Elissa had started pacing less than a quarter hour after the others left and had barely stopped to eat either her breakfast or lunch. Morrigan and Sten left her alone while she worried, the witch reading from the black tome once again and Sten appearing to meditate a short distance away. Even worse, the terrible song of the darkspawn horde was gradually growing as the day wore on, and it set her even further on edge.

Dusk had already begun to fall when the earth beneath them shook violently, throwing Elissa off her feet. Morrigan gasped and dropped the grimoire; Sten already was advancing on her with sword drawn in case she was possessed. The witch lifted one arm weakly, pointing to the west, and they both turned to follow her gaze.

Far on the horizon, blotting out the setting sun, a column of black energy shot high into the sky. The light, assuming it could be called that, paused briefly before it suddenly shot off to the north and out of sight.

“It is done,” Morrigan stated, her voice heavy with relief. The three of them were silent, still watching the northern skies, until Morrigan finally cleared her throat and stood.

“We had best prepare supper before the others return,” she told Elissa. “I sense that they are all safe, but your fool will whine for days to come if he is not fed promptly after the battle they just faced.”

The young Warden nodded numbly and did as she was told, but constantly found ways to position herself so that she could see when her companions finally approached. Morrigan worked around Elissa with a slight smile on her lips as the girl waited.

Finally Moira started to bark, and Elissa saw four figures against the dark horizon to the west. Dropping the spoon she was using to stir the stew into the stew pot, she darted toward them and all but tackled Alistair to the ground when she finally reached him. He was bloody, and covered in gore, but he was in one piece.

“Don’t you _ever_ do something so stupid without me there to watch over you _ever_ again,” she chided as he smoothed her hair and laughing in spite of his exhaustion.

“As you wish.”


	23. Look to the Future

Though all before me is shadow,  
Yet shall the Maker be my guide.  
I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.  
For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light  
And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.  
 _-Trials 1:14_

 

The weather improved shortly after Alistair and the others returned from facing Flemeth, and between the clearing skies and the clearing land the group was able to nearly double their pace toward Redcliffe compared to before. They stayed off the roads, however, as the darkspawn seemed to be concentrated there, preying on those who were only now fleeing. There was still at least one band of scouts to deal with each day, but these groups were dispatched quickly and simply became another addition to their daily routine.

Redcliffe finally came into view after a number of days, and in spite of the setting sun they continued on, eager for the comforts of baths and hot meals that the castle promised. Elissa wondered as they approached how long they could afford to stay; only the treaty with the dwarves of Orzammar remained to be called in, but without the addition of the king’s army they still wouldn’t have enough troops to face the horde. Only with a successful Landsmeet could they get the army they needed, and Elissa doubted that Eamon would be able to move the Landsmeet up from its traditional date of midsummer. If they finished recruiting the dwarves before then, there would be nothing to do but wait.

“Is that _señor_ Teagan?” Zevran asked suddenly as he shielded his eyes from the last of the setting sun, and Elissa had to squint to see. He was right, though; it appeared that Teagan had ridden out to meet them, and waited with an extra horse a mile or two east of town.

Teagan rode forward when he saw them approach. “Lady Elissa,” he greeted her as he slowed, “Eamon would have you come with me immediately to the castle. There have been... developments... that you must be made aware of.”

Elissa’s heart turned to lead and sank to her stomach. Teagan didn’t offer any explanation as he handed her the reins of his spare horse, but his tone had been grim. “I guess I’ll see you all soon,” she told the others, her voice nearly cracking from worry before she turned to follow Teagan, who’d already begun the trip back into Redcliffe.

They rode in silence, through a series of gates separating the village from the Wilds and the castle from the village that hadn’t been there when they’d left a month and a half before. She didn’t like the changes, but presumed they were inevitable; whether darkspawn or Loghain’s army, there would be far more battles as the weather improved in the coming months. They passed by the stables, continuing on to the main courtyard before dismounting and immediately climbing to the main entrance.

She followed Teagan into the great hall to meet with Eamon and immediately froze, her jaw open in disbelief at the two men speaking quietly with the arl near the fire pit. The first had red hair that was a bit shaggier than she remembered, but who was otherwise unchanged. The other turned when she entered and grinned at her through an absurd looking beard, though his blue eyes were still weary with grief.

“Maker’s breath, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you speechless, Lis,” he commented, still grinning.

Elissa still stood in shock as all four men laughed at her reaction. Gradually she came to, her eyes narrowing they fell back on Teagan, and Fergus laughed even harder. “Teagan you might want-”

His warning was too late, though, and Elissa swung as hard as she could at the bann, connecting with his left shoulder and nearly knocking him to the floor.

“-to move out of her way,” Fergus finished, and Elissa spun and stormed toward her brother.

“ _Five_ fucking months it’s been since Howe tricked father into sending you away early so that he could attack us, _four and a half_ fucking months that I’m left to believe that you’re dead, and you have the fucking _nerve_ to laugh that I’m speechless when I see you?” she raged, only barely resisting the urge to hit him as well.

She rounded then to face Ser Gilmore. “And you!” she shrieked, shoving him back a few paces. “You should be dead as well! How dare _either_ of you—Maker’s breath, _any_ of you—think that bringing me here like this would be funny?”

“I’m sorry, sister,” Fergus apologized, pulling her into a tight hug as her anger finally waned and she started sobbing in relief. “To be honest, I thought Teagan would break down and tell you well before you got here.”

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” she replied, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Oh, Fergus, I don’t know how much Eamon and Teagan have told you yet, but so much has happened. First Howe, and then the Wardens and Ostagar, and Alistair, and the treaties-”

Fergus raised one curious eyebrow. “Alistair, is it? Teagan mentioned that you and your fellow Warden were close, but this sounds a bit more than that. Are you telling me my little sister has finally found a man worthy of her? Mother must be dancing at the Maker’s side! She was afraid you’d never respond to any man’s affections.”

Elissa blushed and nodded. “Like I said, a lot’s happened.”

“Well, your friends should be along soon enough. Go ahead upstairs and get cleaned up, we can talk about everything that’s happened, to both of us, over dinner.”

 

* * *

 

Elissa ended up having to lock Valena out while she got ready for dinner. The girl kept insisting that Isolde wanted Elissa in one of her finest gowns for such an important reunion, but all that Elissa wanted was a fresh blouse and a soft pair of trousers. She didn’t _want_ to be Lady Elissa Cousland of Highever tonight; tonight, she was just Elissa, Fergus’s little sister.

 _And Grey Warden, too_ , she thought to herself as she studied her reflection and her eyes fell on her pendant. She would have been lying if she told anyone, especially herself, that she wasn’t equally grateful that she wouldn’t need to return to Highever after the Blight as either teyrna or commander. With both Fergus and Ser Gilmore alive and well, she could focus on her duty to the Wardens without guilt that she might be abandoning her family home.

There was a light knock at the main door to her rooms, and Elissa answered it to find Alistair fidgeting nervously at the other side. His doublet was fine blue velvet, but he constantly pulled at the sleeves to try and make them reach his wrists, and the fabric was pulled tight across his shoulders.

“Alistair, love,” she began carefully, “I know you want to impress my brother, but borrowing clothes that don’t fit just makes you look... _silly_.”

The look he gave her could have rivaled Moira’s best pouts. “But, I thought... I mean... it’s important to give a good impression,” he protested lamely. “The fact that he’s your brother is enormous enough, but add to it that he’s teyrn of Highever—or will be, once we deal with Howe—and it’s important that I look... I don’t know… kingly?”

Laughing a bit, Elissa wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a light kiss. “Go get your things and come back here; you’ve got to have a tunic or gambeson or something that’s in good enough condition to wear to supper. And if not, we’ll have Valena find one for you.”

“But your brother-”

“-Will respect you more as both a man and as his future king if you look like the warrior that you are, rather than some Orlesian fop,” she insisted, and Alistair flushed.

“I kind of was more concerned with the whole my-things-in-your-room part, actually,” he grinned sheepishly.

“Go,” she commanded, swatting at his arm playfully. “Fergus is more likely to become angry with you if you upset me, and Maker help me if you leave me to freeze in the middle of the night then I _will_ be upset. Now get your things, and let’s get you properly dressed.”

He did as he was told, and after going through his things Elissa found a number of tunics and even one simple gambeson that was certainly used, but the color was still fresh enough that it wasn’t overly worn. Most importantly, that particular gambeson was one of the items from his wardrobe here in Redcliffe, not something he’d had with him on the road, so it was _clean_.

“You can wear any of these,” she told him, laying out three of the shirts across the bed. While he picked between the shirts she had chosen for him she rummaged through the vanity for some pins for her hair. She wrapped it up into a messy chignon and pinned it in place, then frowned at her reflection. Removing all the pins she shook her hair free again and instead braided it, tying off the end with a bit of thread.

Satisfied finally with both of their appearances, they finally made their way down to the dining hall to find Leliana already there telling stories to Teagan, Fergus, and Ser Gilmore, who were all on what appeared to be their third ales already. The men laughed outrageously at something the bard had just said, and Fergus was wiping tears from his eyes.

“What did we miss?” Elissa asked curiously as she made her way to their table with Alistair just behind her.

“Nothing at your expense, Lis, don’t worry,” Fergus chuckled. “It seems your Leliana is very familiar with the failed exploits of those idiot boys in Denerim who never leave their father’s estates except to hunt. You remember the scandal around Bann Perrin, don’t you?”

Alistair laughed. “Wasn’t he the one with the lacy knickers? The ones that ended up nailed to the Chantry board?”

Fergus and Gilmore broke out in raucous laughter again, and Elissa glanced at Leliana, who smiled as she sipped at her own mug. “As I was telling your brother, just because we normally worked in Val Royeaux, we did make it out on little excursions from time to time.”

“So I see,” she grinned back. “Well then, _assuming_ my brother can get his head out of his ale for a few moments, I believe I have some introductions to make. Alistair, this is my brother, Fergus Cousland, Teyrn of Highever, and this is Ser Gilmore, one of our father’s knights.”

“I _do_ have a first name, milady,” Gilmore sighed in frustration. “You can call me Rory, ser,” he told Alistair as he shook his hand, while Fergus attempted to bow drunkenly.

Elissa rolled her eyes. “I told you a hundred times when we were children and I’ll tell you again: ‘Rory’ sounds like some comic oaf who gets killed in new and exciting ways in every chapter of every story he’s in, and your proper name, ‘Roland,’ sounds like it belongs to some fat old man who’s wider than he is tall.”

“You know I’m named for my grandfather,” he protested.

Fergus snickered. “He was rather... rotund, though, Rory.”

Ignoring their banter, she continued. “Fergus, _Ser Roland Gilmore_ , this is Alistair. He and I were the only Wardens to escape Ostagar. And, Maker willing, he’ll be replacing Anora and her father in Denerim once the Landsmeet’s over.”

“Your Highness,” Fergus nodded, studying Alistair as shrewdly as he could with his clouded eyes. “To be honest, I wasn’t certain what to expect of the one man my sister didn’t manage to scare away,” he finally admitted, laughing again. “By the looks of you, though, you can handle yourself. Did she tell you she almost broke my nose once?”

Most of the others trailed in while Fergus and Rory took turns telling stories about Elissa’s decidedly tomboyish childhood. As the evening progressed they shared everything that had happened to each of them since that horrible night in Highever—Leliana and Zevran telling much of her story for her with only a few embellishments—then Fergus and Rory each telling their own tales.

Rory apparently had come to in Highever’s great hall some hours after the attack, had managed to escape, and had started on his way to Ostagar to find Fergus or Elissa. Fergus and his men had escaped the slaughter of the army in the Wilds and had supposedly taken up with a Chasind tribe until just a few weeks ago, when Teagan found Rory and sent him south to look for Fergus.

Hours had passed, and Elissa sat with a drowsy smile while she listened to everyone around her. In some ways, this was the worst day she’d lived through since leaving Highever, because of all the reminders of home. So many of Fergus’s stories included their old friends in Highever, people who she’d likely never see again, even if they did survive the attack. Not only had she lost her friends, but her entire family, save Fergus, were dead.

In spite of all that, today had been a blessing. She watched her brother laughing easily with Alistair, Rory flirting with and being rejected by Morrigan, and Teagan and Zevran singing drunkenly. Wynne sat not far away by the fire, pretending to read a book and laughing periodically at the others while she sipped her wine. Sten had excused himself early in the evening, but that wasn’t particularly unusual for him. Sensing eyes on her, Elissa looked up and found Leliana watching her from across the table with a knowing look.

“It is good to belong to something, no?”

Elissa smiled, and was slightly surprised to find she was crying. “It really is,” she agreed.

 

* * *

 

They had only planned to stay a few days before continuing on to Orzammar, but word reached them the second day that a blizzard had completely blocked Gherlen’s Pass. Without a way to reach the gates of the dwarven thaig, and with no other obvious objective they could pursue in the meantime, they settled in to wait for the snows to melt before continuing on.

Each evening over the next several days was much the same as the first following their return to Redcliffe, but Elissa’s mornings quickly transformed into nothing but business. Beginning the very first morning after realizing they couldn’t leave yet, Elissa started meeting with Eamon shortly after breakfast to discuss politics and strategy of one form or another. Many mornings but not all they were joined by Teagan, Fergus, or both, depending on who had received additional news of events outside Redcliffe’s walls.

Alistair may have decided when they left Denerim last that he was going to actively try to win the throne at the eventual Landsmeet, but he was smart enough to realize that both before and after that victory, he was going to need help. He came with her to most of her morning meetings; sometimes he would merely observe, other times he would ask questions which would then spark an argument as Elissa, Eamon, and sometimes Fergus would disagree over the correct answer.

Gradually, he began to actively participate in the discussions and make his own suggestions; the first time this happened Eamon actually was dumbstruck. Elissa couldn’t help but to smile privately to herself at the time. She respected Eamon but she rarely agreed with him, and the mixture of pride in Alistair for coming up with the solution to the problem on his own and the smug satisfaction that it was very nearly the answer she was going to suggest herself was hard to hide.

The meetings with Eamon typically lasted until lunchtime. Once they finally broke for the day the Wardens, Fergus, and Rory would usually head to the practice yards for a few hours of exercise. Once every few days, one or more of their other companions would join them in the yard, but most days this had become almost a private, family ritual among the four of them.

After their practices Elissa and Alistair typically had the afternoons to themselves. Sometimes after washing up they’d spend the rest of the day alone, but most days ended up becoming an informal series of audiences as friends and servants would come to visit, deliver messages, and other random comings and goings.

Three weeks passed like this before the first caravan out of Orzammar finally arrived, signaling the end of their extended rest. Realizing that they would shortly be departing again, most of the members of their party, as well as Fergus and Rory, were called to the next morning’s meeting with Eamon.

“All right,” Elissa began, studying a map spread across the desk surrounded by herself, Alistair, Eamon, and Fergus. “As of last night, who do we know is going to side with Loghain, who with us, and who is yet undecided?”

A number of major settlements were marked on the map, representing the two teyrnirs, five of the arlings and ten of the bannorns of Ferelden. On each of these Teagan placed one of three different colored markers—red for those clearly committed to Anora and Loghain, blue for those to Alistair and Eamon, and white for those who were still unknown. Elissa was pleasantly surprised by how closely their own numbers matched Loghain’s.

“There are currently seventeen voting members of the Landsmeet,” Teagan began, “though from what I hear following Lothering’s destruction, no representative will be sent for its bann. In addition to Eamon, Fergus, and myself, Sighard in Dragon’s Peak as pledged his vote to Alistair, while Ceorlic has joined with Gwaren and both Amaranthine city and arling. No one’s heard from Vaughan in Denerim, and from the rumors flying around I’d say Howe has usurped the city’s arling the same way he did Highever.”

“I’m officially counting Denerim on Loghain’s side of the vote,” Eamon interrupted. “At least until we can discover the fate of Arl Vaughan. The boy’s an idiot, but he loves power. If he lives and Alistair swears to restore him, he will most certainly vote in our favor.”

“It’s essentially a tie, then,” Alistair concluded. “What about the neutrals?”

“The arls of both West Hills and South Reach have promised to offer shelter and support to your party as you travel, should you need it, but neither have yet to promise a vote,” Fergus replied. “It’s safe to say that at least one of them, if not both, can be convinced between now and the Landsmeet. South Reach in particular is surrounded by forces loyal to Loghain, so I’d bet ten sovereigns that Bryland has probably already made his choice to support you, and is feigning neutrality to protect his land until the time comes.”

Elissa frowned as she studied the map. “What of the remaining banns?”

“No word yet from Oswin, or most of the others. Alfstanna in Waking Sea is a good woman, and was always a friend to Highever, but she’s surrounded by Amaranthine. Her letter was sympathetic—apologetic, even—but clear that she would do what is best for her own people.”

“As well as for her own skin, no doubt,” Elissa muttered under her breath. She silently counted the days until midsummer. “Eighty-three days...” she mused quietly, her eyes distant.

Fergus gave her an odd look. “What’s that, Lis?”

“Eighty-three days until Alistair and I have to be in Denerim,” she explained. “This trip to Orzammar could take us two weeks, or it could take us over two months. Assuming it ends up being the latter, the remaining time wouldn’t be enough for us to get to each of the neutral territories and convince them to join us. Even five votes, much less as many as seven, is far too many to leave to chance.”

Leliana rose from the settee she had been sharing with Zevran and glanced at their map. “Correct me if it has changed, but the holdings of White River and Dragon’s Peak are closely allied, are they not? Would Bann Sighard not be able to convince Bann Reginalda to join us?”

Eamon and Teagan shared a momentary look, and the arl nodded. “He probably could, actually. I’ll ask him in my next letter, and move White River to the list of potential allies.”

“Then that really only leaves three wildcards among the banns, if you are certain that the remaining arls will take our side. I should think that between us, Zevran and I could convince at least two of those three who remain.”

Elissa watched her friend speculatively while she spoke, doing the math in her head as the potential alliances were redrawn. Just to be certain she was correct, she rearranged the markers on the map and studied the result. “It could work,” she concluded. “Even if the worst should happen and you don’t get any of the three, though, we’re tied now, assuming no one can find Vaughan. And a tie we can work with.”

“In that case, we’ll go to Denerim first, locate the arl if he still lives, and get him to safety. Knowing if we have his vote or not will allow us to better focus our efforts on the remaining banns. Meanwhile, the rest of you can focus as much time as necessary on Orzammar.” Everyone agreed, and began to part ways to prepare for their own parts of the plan.

“Have you got a moment, Lis?”

Seeing the look of concern on her brother’s face Elissa excused herself, promising to meet Alistair soon for lunch, and joined her brother. She knew better than to ask what was bothering him around everyone else; for as open and friendly as Fergus was in good times, he was three times as private when it came to his bad moods. They walked silently for a while and finally he stopped as they approached the castle’s chantry.

“Oriana was always so strong in her faith,” he finally commented as they entered, his eyes staring emptily up to the altar and statue of Andraste at the far end of the small hall. “At times, she could have rivaled the Divine herself in pure belief. I always thought it was a bit strange, that anyone from the home of the Crows might be so devout. But she was.”

Elissa saw the tears in her brother’s eyes, and her heart broke for him. All these weeks since their reunion and he’d not once brought up any of their family but for their parents; clearly, he trusted only her to see him like this. She tried to comfort him and he broke down and sobbed like a child, clinging to her the same way she had clung to him when they were children and she’d woken from a nightmare. She walked him carefully over to one of the pews, sitting him down, and let him cry out his grief.

After an eternity his sobs finally dwindled into sniffles, and eventually those quieted as well. “Are you happy with him, sister?” he asked finally asked bluntly, his eyes still wet.

For a brief moment, Elissa considered lying to him. She had no right to be so happy in her love while her brother suffered the loss of his own. But she couldn’t lie to him, especially not now, not even to save him more grief. “Extremely,” she finally admitted with a small smile.

Fergus nodded silently for a moment. “Well, that settles it, then,” he said as he stood, clearly having made up his mind about some unspoken dilemma. “Thank you for sitting with me, Lis. I’ve needed someone to talk to for so long.”

He excused himself then, leaving Elissa still sitting in the pew as she wondered which conversation he originally brought her here to have—the one about Oriana, or his brief question about Alistair.


	24. The Wisest Man in Ferelden

_“One day the magic will come back. All of it. Everyone will be just like they were._

_The shadows will part, and the skies will open wide._

_When he rises, everyone will see.”_

 

Elissa sat alone in her parlor a few days later, penning letters to the various nobles that Leliana and Zevran would be visiting soon, when there was a light knock at her door. “It’s open,” she called absently, and Valena let herself in.

“That caravan dwarf you wanted to see is here, miss,” the girl curtsied. “Shall I bring him in?” She glanced at the letters on the desk and the ink stains on Elissa’s hands and face, and laughed. “On second thought, miss, let me get you a cloth first, so you can clean up some.”

Valena disappeared into the back rooms, emerging a moment later with a damp rag. She passed it to Elissa, then returned to the main door. “Lady Elissa can see you now, ser dwarf,” she told the visitor as she showed him in.

Aside from a few merchants in Denerim, Elissa had never met a dwarf before. This one seemed to be of average height, for what little she knew of his race, with what she knew to be their characteristic stocky build and braided beard. Just behind him followed a younger dwarf; slightly bumbling, blond, and beardless. She couldn’t place where, but Elissa could swear she’d met this pair before.

“Bodahn Feddic, at your service, milady,” the elder dwarf introduced himself as Valena took the cloth back from Elissa and showed herself out. “And this here’s my son Sandal. Best damned enchanter in all of Thedas, if you’ll excuse the language and some fatherly pride.”

“Enchantment!” the younger dwarf chimed in joyously, jumping in place and clapping his hands in delight.

“I’ve seen and said much worse than that,” Elissa laughed lightly. “And you can just call me ‘Elissa’. There’s no ‘milady’ or any other title required.”

“Er, yes, well, as you say, miss,” Bodahn stammered uncertainly. “As it were, Bann Teagan says you wanted to speak with me about Orzammar, yes? My boy and I can certainly give you directions—or even act as your guides, should you need it—but as Surfacers we aren’t permitted in the city until after the succession is decided, miss.”

“Succession?”

“Aye, miss. Word has it that King Endrin’s second son murdered his first, and shortly after exiling the second son the king died of grief. Succession in Orzammar has to be voted on even when the king names an heir; from what I understand it’s not much different in Denerim really, except human nobles tend to respect their late king’s choices. The heads of the houses of the Diamond Quarter fight for the throne regardless of whether an heir is named.” Pausing, Bodahn shook his head sadly, “It always turns out bloody, it does.”

“Wonderful,” Elissa muttered. “How stubborn are your countrymen, Bodahn? You say Surfacers aren’t allowed in until the succession’s decided. Are they going to try to enforce that rule on the Grey Wardens, as well?”

The dwarf’s eyes widened in awe. “Grey Ward- If you’ll excuse me miss, my boy and I will give you directions as you need, and I’ll even supply your journey and have Sandal take a look at your gear. But I think it’s best we stay here, rather than travel along with ye. No offense intended, but there’s probably more excitement on your path than my boy and I are up for.”

“None taken, Bodahn, trust me,” she assured him. “Wait, I _do_ know where I know you two from. You’re the two that Morrigan rescued in Lothering, aren’t you?”

Sandal perked up again behind his father at Morrigan’s name. “Enchantment!” he grinned at Elissa proudly.

“I’d assume my boy means ‘yes’ there, though I never caught the name of the mage that fought off those beasts for us. We should be going for now, but give her our thanks for that, would you please?”

“I’ll do just that,” she promised.

 

* * *

 

Supper that evening was a much more formal affair than any other since their party had returned to Redcliffe, as Eamon and Isolde would be joining them to bid everyone farewell as they parted ways for what was likely the final time before the Landsmeet. Valena fussed over Elissa, draping her in silver-trimmed green silk and chiffon and pinning and braiding her hair so elaborately that Elissa doubted she’d be able to take it down herself. With Elissa’s hair out of the way, the girl finished up the gown’s laces and tied on a satin belt to match the trim on the bodice.

Satisfied with her work, Valena turned a mirror in the corner so that Elissa could see the result. “Lady Isolde won’t be able to say a thing about you not dressing to your status tonight, miss,” she declared proudly. “Not to mention the effect you’ll have on your betrothed,” she added after only the slightest pause with a knowing smile.

Elissa flushed. “Alistair and I aren’t-” she began to protest, but Valena only laughed.

“I may just be a maid, miss, but I know how these things work. If the arl’s plans prove true, that not-so-secret-anymore prince of yours will become king. Even if you weren’t a Cousland and well within your rights to marry into the royal house, would you really let him take another as his queen?”

The color drained from Elissa’s face as Valena’s words struck her. She and Alistair had been so focused on their present... the only time they ever thought of the future was in the context of the Landsmeet or the Blight. Of _course_ if the Landsmeet voted in his favor, and if he survived the Blight, he’d be expected to produce an heir eventually.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she whispered as she dropped gracelessly on the seat of her vanity.

Valena scowled. “Not on that dress, you won’t,” the maid threatened darkly.

Alistair came to her rescue not long after, and she leaned heavily on his arm as they made their way down to the dining hall. He tried more than once to ask her what was wrong, but each time she brushed him off with a small, unconvincing smile. He finally dropped the subject, but she could feel him glance her way every few minutes in concern.

Her other companions were not nearly so considerate.

Leliana and Wynne were kind enough, asking if she was unwell and then allowing the subject to drop when she insisted she was fine. Zevran and Morrigan, on the other hand, were merciless.

“Is it just me,” he began slyly, “or is our dear leader looking a bit green around the gills this evening, Morrigan?”

“So it would seem,” the witch agreed between bites. “Then again, she and Alistair haven’t spent an evening apart for what, three months now? Four? I’d honestly be more surprised if she _weren’t_ with child than if she _were_.”

The table went completely silent as Alistair spit out his wine, drenching Morrigan. Before he even had a chance to put his own glass down, he spied Elissa’s and tore it from her hand. Furious, she snatched it back and downed its contents before it could be taken from her again.

“Andraste’s flaming sword, I am _not_ pregnant!” she swore, slamming the glass back on the table.

“I wouldn’t be so certain,” the elf drawled casually, leaning his chair back a bit. “You have had _quite_ the appetite the past few months.”

“Because I’m a Grey Warden, you damned fool!”

Alistair frowned and leaned close so that only she could hear him. “...Are you absolutely certain, love? I can’t let you go to Orzammar if there’s any chance-”

“Do you _really_ want me to get into the mechanics of the female body and how I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I’m not pregnant here in front of everyone?” she groaned, her face in her hands. He flushed and didn’t answer, and she pushed back her chair.

“It seems I’m not hungry tonight,” she apologized with a curtsy. “Eamon, if you’ll excuse me?” The arl nodded, and Elissa left without another word.

Alistair stared after her for a moment, then when he saw the curious looks the others gave him he excused himself as well, mumbling that he wasn’t hungry either as he followed. He found her waiting just outside the hall as he exited, but he before he managed to close the door behind him they both heard Zevran laugh and call after them quite clearly.

“If at first you don’t succeed, try and try again!”

Both their faces were scarlet as they fled back to their shared rooms.

 

* * *

 

They met Teagan at the docks early the next morning, and Elissa was slightly surprised to find only Wynne waiting for them with the bann. “Where are Sten and Morrigan?” she asked as they joined the mage. “Not that I mind Morrigan’s absence after last night,” she added bitterly.

“It may be difficult to get messages in and out of Orzammar, so I asked Morrigan to stay behind with one of my sending stones. Leliana has one as well, so that she can provide the arl with updates on her progress. Sten volunteered to stay behind and ensure Morrigan does not become a threat. What of your hound? Are you not bringing her?”

“Apparently, Moira has taken to that dwarven boy,” Elissa shrugged. “I thought she was going to take my arm off when I tried to make her leave this morning.”

One of the deckhands called to them that their gear was stowed and they could go whenever they were ready, so they dropped their small talk and got settled aboard. Teagan had said they’d be ten or twelve hours on Lake Calenhad before reaching Rainesfere, where he would see to it that they were put up for the night before continuing on the next morning. After that they could expect anywhere between one and three weeks of travel to Orzammar, depending on the weather. Elissa sat quietly at the bow of the ship, staring over the water as they sailed.

“Care for some company?”

She jumped at the sound of Alistair’s voice; she’d been so deep in thought, worrying over her conversation with Valena the night before, that she hadn’t heard him approach. Smiling slightly she made room for him on the small bench where she sat, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around her.

“What really had you so upset last night?” he asked quietly.

Elissa fidgeted with the edge of her cloak. “You’re going to have to marry after the Landsmeet,” she practically accused him, her voice on the edge of tears. He had the nerve to laugh then, and she pulled away, staring at him in shock. “You actually think this is _funny_?”

“Well I’m certainly not going to go marrying the Ice Queen to try and secure my claim to the throne, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said, still laughing. “You know, I met Anora once, shortly after joining the Wardens. She is by far the only woman other than Morrigan I’ve _ever_ wanted to punch in the face.”

The mental image of Anora with a black eye, broken nose, and one missing tooth summoned itself automatically, and Elissa finally laughed as well. “I’m being an idiot, aren’t I?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t say ‘idiot’ really,” he shrugged. “But certainly that you’re worrying over nothing. Truth be told, I already talked with Fergus about all this. He was going to try and find your mother’s ring for me before I brought it up with you, but since you seem to be so worried about that sort of thing...”

She was speechless as she processed what Alistair was implying. “Are you-?” she finally squeaked weakly.

“If you’re willing to put up with me for that long,” he grinned. “No matter what, you’re not getting rid of me easily. The ring, and the wedding, and being queen if I win the Landsmeet, that stuff’s all up to you. But no matter what happens, I want you there with me, wherever ‘there’ is.”

“I love you.”

Alistair pulled her close again, the stubble on his chin catching in her hair. “Is that a yes?” he prompted her carefully. “Not going to try and run to Orlais when I’m not looking?”

“Yes, that’s a yes,” she beamed. “Besides, I hear Orlais is horrible this time of year. Absolutely _full_ of Orlesians.”


	25. City of Stone

_“A more fascinating culture I have never visited, and my time there was bittersweet.  
_ _For while I was blessed to be among a people so dedicated and stout-hearted, I could not shake the feeling that I was witnessing the last days of a proud people that, despite their best efforts, were destined to be overrun by evil.”_

 

“You’ve let the pan get too hot; if you put the bacon in now, it’s going to burn before you even get a chance to turn it.”

Elissa scowled as she glared over the fire at Wynne. She understood that the mage was just trying to be helpful, but Elissa had been more than willing to settle for dry rations for herself until they reached Orzammar, rather than being bothered with learning how to cook over a camp fire. Hell, she could barely cook on a proper stove; the last time she’d tried Nan had run her out of the kitchens, beating her with a broom, and it had taken weeks to get the burnt molasses out of her hair.

Wynne murmured a brief spell and the pan frosted over so Elissa could try again for a fourth time this morning. Sighing, the girl put the pan back to the fire, counting carefully as she waited for it to reach the proper temperature. Once she figured it was ready she glanced at Wynne for confirmation, but the mage was busying herself with the tea and wouldn’t give her any clues. With a shrug Elissa reached for two slices and added them to the pan; within seconds they sizzled and blackened.

“That’s quite all right, dear,” the mage smiled knowingly, handing her a small cup of tea. “I’ll finish this up, and we’ll just tell Alistair you did most of the work.”

Smiling gratefully, Elissa accepted the tea. “He’s going to know anyway, I might as well just tell him the truth,” she laughed, then made an ugly face as the tea’s aroma finally hit her. “Are you certain that the women in the Circle drink this every day?”

The mage’s eyes grew distant—sad, even. “Most of them, yes. The acrid smell is considered far favorable to a child being taken away so soon after birth that the mother never even sees her son’s face.”

“But... all the mages in the Circle, and all the templars... even if the child also ends up a mage, who better to train him than his own mother and father? Wouldn’t knowing that he’s loved make a person less susceptible to possession?”

“It’s true that love can strengthen a person,” Wynne admitted. “But to love in the Circle means that there is something the Templars can take from you. The fear of loss is more likely to weaken the mage than the love itself is to protect him. That tea prevents the women of the Circle from having to lose a child to the Chantry’s laws, and it will prevent you from risking a child before this Blight is over.”

Elissa frowned, examining the tea again. “But it’s not permanent, right? I mean, once everything’s over, I’ll be expected…”

“Not only is it not permanent,” Wynne confirmed, adding a second round of bacon to the pan, “but once the Blight’s over and the two of you are safely married, there are other tinctures that will increase your ability to produce an heir if you should need them.”

“As long as it won’t complicate things later,” she conceded, grimacing as she downed the quickly cooling tea. “Andraste’s ass, this tastes worse than it smells!”

Wynne laughed. “It’s even worse if you try to sweeten it, too. Don’t worry, dear. You’ll get used to it in time, and you won’t have to drink it forever.”

“Thank the Maker.”

Elissa sat back against the boulders that formed the west side of their shelter. It had been four days since Rainesfere, and if the weather held—overcast, but dry—they’d be in Orzammar in another three. The sun was probably up by now, but the clouds overhead were so thick that it was hard to tell. In either case, Alistair would still be asleep in their tent for a while longer; Wynne had risen just as Elissa began to collect the pans from their gear to begin breakfast.

The mage handed her the plate of bacon and began a small pot of porridge. “Why were you up cooking so early, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Claiming a bit of the bacon for herself, Elissa flushed. “It’s his birthday, and I don’t think he knows that I know. He had a cake made for mine, so I thought the least I could do is cook him a real breakfast.”

“That’s fair, dear, but next time, just let me know the night before. It’ll save us a significant amount of bacon.”

 

* * *

 

One could almost call the settlement that existed in the clearing outside Orzammar’s heavy doors a village, with its alleyways winding between tents arranged in what might be small districts separating merchants of one kind from another. Here were food stalls and an impromptu tavern run by humans and a small smattering of elves; there were armorers and smiths, mostly dwarves, hawking equipment that they claimed was superior to any other found on the surface. The only thing that prevented it from being called such was that all the structures were temporary—tents, lean-tos, and the like. Everyone here had their place, but the place itself was fluid, changing by the day or week as merchants came and went.

They made their way north to the great portal into the mountain itself when Alistair suddenly held an arm in front of Elissa to block her path. “I know that man,” he cautioned, indicating the leader of a group of soldiers clustered around the gateway. “Name’s Imrek, and he’s one of Loghain’s men. Only question is if he’s here looking for us, or to try and strong-arm the dwarves into joining the bastard.”

Elissa watched the man arguing with one of the dwarven guards. “In either case, it doesn’t look like he’s having a good day. Let’s go make it worse for him,” she grinned.

“Perhaps diplomacy would bet-” Wynne began, but Elissa waved her concerns off.

“I’m not going to hurt him, Wynne. At least, not unless he forces me to. I just want to have him deliver a message.” Elissa climbed the steps to the gates and waited patiently for her own turn while Imrek continued to harass the guard.

“You insult all of Ferelden with your actions, dwarf! King Loghain will not suffer the delay of his appointed messenger!”

She felt Alistair flare beside her, and she laid one hand on his arm to calm him.

“ _Veata_!” the guard replied harshly. “This land is held in trust for the sovereign dwarven kings. Entry is not allowed at this time.”

“King Loghain demands the allegiance of the deshyr or lords or whatever you call them in your Assembly! I am his appointed messenger.”

“So it’s ‘King Loghain’ now, is it?” she spoke up finally, and the man spun to see who’d dared to challenge him. “That’s _awfully_ odd; we hadn’t heard a thing about a coronation while we were in Redcliffe, and I certainly don’t remember the son of a common bandit having a claim to the throne.”

Imrek’s face blanched as he stared first at Elissa, then at Alistair, and finally back to her again. “This woman and her companion are murderers and I demand that you detain them at once! These Grey Wardens are responsible for the death of King Cailan and Loghain will see them hanged!”

“Ooh, he forgot the ‘king’ part this time,” Alistair commented as off-handedly as possible as his temper cooled. Imrek began to sputter, but Elissa ignored him.

“I understand your Assembly is occupied with your own succession, but the one thing this fool has right is that Alistair and I _are_ Grey Wardens. We’ve come to discuss the treaty signed by the dwarves of Orzammar at the end of the last Blight.”

Frowning, the guard considered this. “No outsiders are to be permitted into the city until the throne is decided, but we’d not expected the Warden treaties to be called in under these circumstances either. I’m not authorized to admit you myself, but I’ll send word to the deshyrs that you’ve come. If they chose to make an exception for you I’ll come get you shortly.”

“You can’t possibly be considering letting this murderer and traitor to her country—a _stain_ on Ferelden—into the city while the king’s messenger is denied!” Imrek cried in disbelief.

“I don’t care if you’re the king’s wiper, my orders are that Orzammar will have none but its own until our throne is settled. And I thought I made it quite clear that I’ll not be the one letting them in; that matter will be decided by the Assembly.”

“Tsk tsk, sounds like you’ll most certainly be returning to your so-called ‘king’ with bad news,” Elissa taunted. “But, seeing as you’ll be returning to him regardless, d’you think you can be bothered to deliver a _teensy_ message for me?”

Imrek spat on her, and she caught Alistair just in time to stop him from beating the man’s face in. She quite calmly retrieved a kerchief from a small pouch and cleaned her face; then, without warning, she just as calmly broke his nose.

“You’re lucky I still have this message for you to deliver,” she stated coolly, pulling a small, sealed envelope from her main pack and throwing it and the kerchief at the man. “Otherwise, I’m sure he’d have broken more than your nose. Now you and your men get out of my sight _this instant_.”

The few guards Imrek had with him fled immediately, and after only a moment’s hesitation he followed and the dwarven gatekeeper eyed her curiously. “I have to say, you’ve done me a service. That fool Imrek has been barking at me the past week. Are all humans so touched?”

“Not all humans,” she grinned mischievously. “Just the ones who want their noses broken by a girl.”

Laughing, he gestured to the other guards to open the gates. “That whole mess about the Assembly having to approve your entry was just to keep Imrek from making a scene; those treaties in your hand supersede even their authority to bar you from the city. You and your friends are free to enter Orzammar, Warden, though I don’t know what help you’ll find.”

“Thank you, ser,” she nodded.

The hall beyond was vast, easily rivaling the main hall in the temple of Andraste. Lining the walls and the heavy columns holding the ceiling above were a series of massive statues, each depicting a different hero of the dwarven people.

“They are the Paragons of the Dwarven Empire,” Wynne explained as Elissa stared in awe at the mere size of the monuments. “The largest one, there in the center, is Aeducan, founder of the most prominent ruling House since the First Blight.”

“Have you been here before?” she breathed.

“No, child, but the Hall of Heroes is well documented. Some of the Paragons here won victory in battle against the Darkspawn, as Lord Aeducan had. Others, such as Caridin and Branka, contributed invaluable technologies to the Dwarven people. But still others were raised up so long ago, or in such odd times, that even should the reasons for such be remembered, they would scarcely be believed.”

They continued through the Hall, and Alistair pulled open the heavy gates separating it from the city beyond. But as soon as the doors cracked Elissa pressed her hands tightly over her ears. Never before—not in her nightmares, not in the Wilds, not even during her Joining itself—had the call of the darkspawn horde assaulted her so directly. Without realizing it, she cried out in pain and fell to her knees.

“Runners said there were Wardens coming,” a beardless dwarf commented, pushing the door open the rest of the way. “First time so close to the Deep Roads too, by the looks of ye. Look a bit young to be taking your Calling, though, if you ask me.”

“They’re here to discuss the Blight, ser dwarf, not to submit to their darkspawn taint,” Wynne replied as she helped Elissa to her feet. “Can you direct us to the Assembly’s meeting hall?”

He pulled a crude wineskin from his belt and handed it to Elissa with a grunt. “Aye, but I’d recommend the girl here take a pull from that first, though. Should help to dull the noise in her head.” She took his advice, and while the drink within was disgusting, it did help to quiet the song. Grimacing, she passed the skin back.

“Thank you.”

“Least any of us here can do, Warden. Your kind are the only ones who can begin to imagine what the dwarves have lived with for ages. Though I have to admit, I don’t envy that noise you hear, if the stories are true.”

He led them through what appeared to be a market place as he continued. “I don’t know how much help the other deshyrs are going to be with that treaty of yours; only the king has the authority to send the army to the surface in the time of a Blight, and until those fools get their heads out of their collective ass there won’t be a king to give the order.”

“You’re one of the voting nobles, then?” Elissa asked as he paused to open another great door.

The dwarf bowed ironically. “Aye, Lord Denek Helmi, honored deshyr of the Orzammar Assembly, and a terrible disappointment to my esteemed mother. So tell me, who were you before joining up with the Wardens, eh?”

“Elissa Cousland of Highever,” she replied, nodding slightly. “The mage is Enchanter Wynne of Ferelden’s Circle Tower, and my fellow Warden is Alistair-”

“-and a Theirin, by the looks of him,” Helmi finished, eyeing Alistair shrewdly. “Don’t be afraid to use your father’s name, here, boy. It might get you just as far as those treaties when it comes down to it all.”

Elissa and Alistair shared a look as Lord Helmi continued to lead them through the city; they now passed between palaces carved of the stone itself. She had known that both Maric and Cailan had agreements with Orzammar’s kings, but it never occurred to her that either or both of them might have personally visited the city. For all their differences, Alistair _did_ resemble both his father and brother, and Elissa was almost more surprised that her prince hadn’t been recognized sooner.

“The other deshyr lords are inside,” Helmi said, gesturing toward the door of one of the palaces. “You’ll need to find a way to convince them to pick a king, if you want your support up topside.”

“You aren’t coming as well?” Elissa frowned, and the dwarf scoffed.

“I’m not going near those blood-sucking ticks until they start talking sense. I don’t give a damn which fool they put on the throne, so long as they agree on one and shut the hell up. If you need me, or if they’re ready to make another vote, I’ll be at Tapster’s—just ask around, anyone can give you directions if you need.”

Once he was gone, Elissa and the others turned to the door before them. “I guess we just let ourselves in?” she wondered aloud, as she reached for the heavy latch. She expected to have to put her weight into the door to push it open, and was surprised when it gave easily under her hand.

The antechamber immediately inside the door was small, but dozens of voices could be heard arguing in another chamber just on the other side of this first. An elderly dwarf approached them and bowed apologetically.

“ _Adrast vala,_ Wardens. I am Bandelor, Steward of the Assembly. The deshyrs within are aware that you’ve come but I’m afraid they are... otherwise occupied,” he finished lamely as the sound of a brawl clearly made its way from the inner chambers. Sighing, he shook his head. “It’s a disgrace, the lords and ladies of the Assembly behaving this way while topsiders are within our city.”

There was a look in Bandelor’s eye that Elissa had come to know all too well; she’d seen it on Teagan’s face when they first arrived in Redcliffe, on Ser Greagoir’s at the Circle Tower, and on Zathrian’s at the Dalish encampment.

“What will it take to get them to agree on a single candidate?” she demanded bluntly.

“At this rate? A damned Paragon in the flesh making the decision for them,” he spat. “And unless Branka decides to magically show her face after five years in the Deep Roads, that won’t be happening anytime soon.”

There was a touch at her elbow, and Elissa turned to find Alistair and Wynne looking at her strangely. “Excuse us, ser, we’ll just be a moment,” the mage apologized as the two of them pulled Elissa aside.

“Love, what do you think you’re doing?” Alistair asked once they were out of earshot. “We aren’t here to get involved in dwarven politics, but it sounds a bit like you’re about to go play kingmaker.”

Glancing at Wynne, it was clear the mage held the same opinion. “There are more important matters at hand, dear,” she pointed out gently.

“No, I don’t think there are, actually,” she disagreed with them. “This is no different than freeing the Circle, breaking the curse on the werewolves, or defeating the demon that possessed Connor. We need the dwarven armies against the Blight, and no matter what we do they aren’t going to provide that help unless we do something for them first. I say we get this over with and get back to the surface.”

Alistair frowned. “But Lissa, lives were at stake each of those other times. This is just... _politics_.”

“And so is putting you on the throne come the Landsmeet,” she pointed out defensively. “And I _am_ going to put you on that throne, because I agree with you that we’ll both be able to do more good for people from Denerim than we’ll be able to if we remain with the Wardens once the Blight’s done with. But that doesn’t mean what we’re doing topside is any less _politics_ than what’s happening down here.”

Glancing at Wynne, Alistair shrugged. “She’s got us there, you know.”

“Find out who the candidates are from the Lord Steward, then,” the mage conceded. “If I’m going to be party to this, I want to at least be informed.”


	26. The Calling

Those who had sought to claim   
Heaven by violence destroyed it. What was   
Golden and pure turned black.   
Those who had once been mage-lords,   
The brightest of their age,  
Were no longer men, but monsters  
 _-Threnodies 12:1_

 

Lord Pyral Harrowmont was, by all accounts, a good man. For years he was the voice of reason within the Assembly—often the only such voice among the dozens of deshyr lords. He had been one of the late Endrin Aeducan’s most favored advisors, and apparently he had been at the king’s side when he passed. He believed strongly in upholding the traditions of the Ancestors; as such he wanted nothing to do with the topsiders. It didn’t seem to matter to him that they were Grey Wardens come to call their ancient allies to war.

Prince Bhelen Aeducan, on the other hand, was a progressive. He often spoke out against the antiquated policies that forbade the casteless from serving the empire alongside the Houses, claiming that by accepting those poor, branded souls, they might restore the empire to its former glory. He was also, depending on who you asked, a blackmailer, a forger, and a murderer.

“Andraste’s ass, isn’t there _one_ dwarf in this damned city who _isn’t_ entirely insane?” Elissa swore, dodging as one warrior threw another into the bar as she made her way back to Alistair and Wynne at Lord Helmi’s table at Tapster’s. “How the hell are we supposed to put anyone on the damned throne and get back to Denerim in time for the Landsmeet when one nominee refuses to have anything to do with us, the other is supposedly a sociopath, and all the voting lords are so busy screaming at each other that they’d not even notice if either candidate were to suddenly keel over in the Assembly hall itself!”

She sat a mug in front of Alistair, and took the seat next to him as Lord Helmi laughed. “There’s one, but damn if you’re getting me mixed up in all this anymore than my family already has.” The errant deshyr lord had proved to be an invaluable resource over the past few days, giving them room and board with his House and teaching them as much as he could of the local political landscape.

Wynne leaned back into the wall behind her bench. “Are you certain you can’t get us in with Harrowmont, Lord Helmi? He seems by far the better choice.”

“I’d normally agree,” Alistair frowned, “but if he won’t see us, then he’s no choice at all. For all we know, we could get him on the throne and he’ll kick us right out of the city. Bhelen sounds like an ass, but at least he’s an ass that’s willing to give us an army.”

“So you’ll put the local equivalent of Loghain in power here, all for your army? And what if this ‘progressive’ dwarf later decides that his army should remain on the surface?”

Helmi waved down one of the wenches for another round. “Bah, that won’t happen. Bhelen’s unpredictable, sure, but he’ll keep his men down here once the Blight’s done. He’s got too much riding on proving that his new methods are capable of restoring the lost thaigs where so many others have failed.”

Chewing her lip in thought, Elissa traced the rim of her tankard with one finger. “Has the prince’s steward responded to our request for an audience?”

“Aye. Vartag Gavorn will meet with you at the Shaperate tomorrow afternoon. He’ll test you, but if you pass he’ll take you to speak with Bhelen. Of course, none of this gets us anywhere closer to a king, but Bhelen’s a schemer. Once you’re in with him, I’m sure he’ll have some plot you can help him with that will put him on top.”

“Then we’ll meet with this Gavorn, and see what we have to do to elevate Prince Bhelen to king.”

 

* * *

 

“Wardens, welcome! It is always a blessing for Orzammar to host your order.” The dwarf bowed, continuing. “I am Vartag Gavorn, top advisor to our good Prince Bhelen. What news do you bring of the surface?”

Elissa hesitated before responding. “You know exactly what news we bring, Gavorn,” she replied finally. “The Wardens require the aid of their ancient allies.”

“Yes, the treaty,” he nodded. “I’ve seen the copy kept here, in the Shapers’ library. You understand, of course, that only a sitting king is authorized to send troops to the surface? Something which Orzammar is, sadly, lacking at this time.”

“So we’ve heard,” Alistair muttered behind her.

Gavorn continued as if he hadn’t heard. “The good news is, Prince Bhelen understands the threat that a Blighted surface poses to Orzammar, something Lord Harrowmont can’t claim. Yes, our own troops down below get a reprieve from the darkspawn, but if the human nations above are destroyed, so is every source of topside-trade, and then when the darkspawn return to the Deep Roads we don’t have the supplies to face them.”

“And what will it take to get the Assembly to agree to crown Bhelen, Gavorn, so that he can send the troops to the surface?”

The dwarf laughed. “Ah, I like a woman who’s all business! Naturally, Prince Bhelen wants some sign of your... dedication... to his cause before he’s willing to meet with you himself. Candidates for the throne have had an awful habit of turning up dead in Orzammar’s history, so he’s not going to meet with you personally until he knows he can trust you. That said, it’s come to our attention that Harrowmont’s been buying the votes of some of the deshyrs.”

“It’s not terribly honorable, but that’s hardly unheard of,” she frowned. “What do you want us to do about it?”

“All you have to do at the moment is speak with two of the deshyrs that have promised him their vote based on such transactions. It’s come to our attention that at least one promise has been made to two different lords; obviously, Harrowmont can’t pay both with the same prize, but as it stands they won’t discover his trickery until the votes are cast it’s too late.”

“I suppose you have proof,” she stated, suspicious.

“Aye, promissory notes to each of the Houses involved,” he replied, producing some documents from a pack. “You show these to the representatives of House Helmi and House Dace, and they’ll speak for themselves.”

Elissa studied the pages he handed her. She remembered one of the accusations made against Bhelen—that he was a known forger—but she’d never had a reason before to learn how to detect forgeries herself and the documents _seemed_ genuine. She wished Leliana was there; the bard would almost certainly be able to tell if these were faked or not.

“I’ll consider it, Gavorn,” she finally agreed. “But this isn’t the Landsmeet with only seventeen votes total this year. How much impact will these two votes out of eighty actually have on the election?”

“On their own? Next to none,” Gavorn admitted without hesitation. “But the doubt this revelation sows in the other deshyrs will be the real reward here. Harrowmont’s always been an honorable man; proof that he’s just as rotten as any other politician will erode quite a bit of his support.”

Elissa folded the papers carefully and stored them in one of her packs. “Thank you for meeting with us, Gavorn. I’ll have another look through these, and then take them to Lord Helmi. We’re staying with his House while in Orzammar; if you need us, you can find us there.”

 

* * *

 

“No, if Bhelen’s had these altered, it’s not through any method I recognize.” Lord Helmi scowled. “Pyral, you nug fucker... Thank you for bringing these here, Lady Elissa. The honor of both Houses Helmi and Dace would be stained if you hadn’t. Here, take these to Lady Dace. She’ll need to know about this.”

Elissa took the papers back and stored them away. “Where can we find her?”

“This time of day? You probably won’t. She’ll be either locked away in Assembly or at home with personal audiences that have to be scheduled in advance. But she spends her mornings visiting with friends not far from the royal palace; you should be able to find her there tomorrow. And you’ll know her when you see her, she’s a pretty young thing. You’d never expect her to be able to hold up in the Assembly, but damn if she doesn’t kick most of the other deshyr’s asses once you get her out there in a debate.”

Alistair laughed. “Sounds like someone I know,” he grinned, and Elissa swatted at him. “You see what I put up with? It’s abuse, I swear!”

“I’d say that’s your own fault,” the dwarf laughed. “Anyway, since it looks like you’ll have a free afternoon, I know quite a few of my men that’d be interested in sparring with you.”

“Lead the way.”

 

* * *

 

Finding Lady Dace the next morning had been even simpler than Lord Helmi had led them to believe. The girl was roughly Elissa’s age—assuming dwarves aged at the same rate as humans, Elissa couldn’t be certain—and she chatted happily with a few other women in a little side chamber just before reaching the palace itself.

“What do you want?” she demanded irritably when they intruded on her conversation. Her eyes narrowed as she examined Elissa, Alistair, and Wynne all in turn, and she dismissed the women huddled around her. “I suppose you’re the Grey Warden everyone’s talking about?”

Elissa nodded.

“I think it’s just _fascinating_ that the surface has an entire order dedicated to fighting darkspawn. Down here, that’s just what fighting means.” Pausing, Lady Dace allowed herself a tight grin. “But I’m _sure_ it’s more difficult on the surface. It must be _much_ harder to find them.”

“That would certainly explain why it’s been four hundred years since anyone up top has seen them,” Elissa quipped, and she could hear Wynne sighing behind her. “Are you Lady Dace?”

Nodding, the dwarf grinned. “I am. And by the Stone, it’s good to talk to a woman who’s not afraid to meet me on my level. You stick an axe in a dwarven woman’s hands and she’s just as good as any man. Hire her as one of my maids, though, and she gets all timid, barely able to look me in the eye. What can I do for you, Warden?”

“I have some documents that you should probably see,” Elissa explained, handing over the papers. “I don’t know if they’re genuine or not, but Lord Helmi couldn’t find any sign of forgery.”

Dace studied the papers closely, scowling. “This isn’t exactly a surface broadsheet, Warden. Where did you get these? No... It doesn’t matter. Do any of the deshyrs other than Lord Helmi and I know about this?”

“Not that I know of.” It wasn’t technically a lie; Elissa was fairly certain that Gavorn would not be voting when the time came.

“Good. The problem is, this deal was made on behalf of our entire House and I can’t do anything about this without my father’s consent. He isn’t supposed return from the Deep Roads before the next vote, and that blighted guttersnipe knows it. Of course, if a skilled messenger could take these papers to him...”

Elissa’s blood sang at the suggestion, and her mind likewise screamed in horror. There was _something_ in those caverns; something that wanted her, that drew her towards it. She tried to refuse, but her body wouldn’t obey.

“I’ll take them to him,” her voice promised shakily. “I’ll go down into the Deep Roads.”

 

* * *

 

“You don’t have to go down there, love. We’ll find another way to get the army’s support.”

It wasn’t the first time Alistair had tried to talk her out of her plan to go into the Deep Roads to retrieve Lord Dace. In fact, it wasn’t the fifth time, either. Elissa closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath to try and quiet the part of her mind that agreed with him. They _shouldn’t_ have to go down into the ruins beyond the heavy, lyrium-infused doors that protected Orzammar from the darkspawn. If she had half a brain, Elissa would have refused to help; they could have returned to the surface and gotten on with preparing for the Landsmeet. True, they’d be without the dwarven armies then, but was it worth this risk?

Sighing, she finally shook her head. “Even if we had enough troops without the dwarves, we need them to train the surface armies. We have to find Lord Dace and get him to agree to cancel the transaction with Harrowmont.”

“Elissa, you have no way of knowing if enough deshyrs will be swayed to put Bhelen on the throne here,” Wynne reminded her sternly. “The Deep Roads are no afternoon stroll, and are not to be taken lightly.”

Handing the pass given to her by Lady Dace to one of the guards, Elissa turned to meet Wynne’s gaze. “This,” she began, pointing to her own face, “is not me taking _anything_ lightly. This is doing what I have to do, darkspawn be damned. You don’t have to come, you know. You can sit here with Lord Helmi if you’d rather, having drinks at Tapster’s while we’re below.”

The portal behind her opened, and Elissa winced as the call of the horde’s song assaulted her. It pulled at her mind, begging her to join in, and she shook her head to try and clear it. “Come with us or don’t,” she told the mage harshly, picking up her gear and beginning toward the door. Alistair followed, as did Wynne after a few moments, but the mage’s face made it clear she did so unwillingly.

Wynne spoke a word as the doors sealed behind them, and the tip of her staff flared with white light. After just a moment the light softened, an area about twenty feet around them illuminated by the glow. But even after the initial glare had subsided, Elissa had to shield her eyes to keep from being blinded.

“Can’t you turn that down some?” she asked irritably, and Wynne gave her a puzzled look.

“If I reduce the light any more, we’ll not be able to see our own feet.”

Alistair took Elissa by the hand and walked her a short distance away, just out of the reach of the damned light. “How far down the tunnel can you see, love?” he asked gently.

She glanced down the passage, and turned back to him slightly confused. “Just as far as I’d see anywhere else. I don’t know why Wynne needs to use her staff for light; the dwarves must have glow stones down here to light the way through the nearer tunnels.”

“That’s what I figured. I can see a _little_ bit farther than usual, but not nearly as far as you are, and Wynne can only see as far as her staff reaches. I never really understood the how or why, but it’s something that happens sometimes the first trip a Warden makes to the Deep Roads, especially so soon after their Joining as this is for you.”

“So this means...?”

Alistair’s brow creased. “It means we have to be careful,” he replied finally. “Seeing in the dark while we’re locked down here isn’t the only way this can manifest. Some symptoms, like being able to more precisely sense the darkspawn, could save our lives if it came to it. But at the same time hearing the horde more clearly can also become a deadly distraction.”

Shuddering, Elissa realized that the song had wormed its way into her mind again, and she forced it away. “How long will it last?” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I barely had any reaction at all on my first trip underground. The mage that was with us, though... Just let me know immediately if you notice anything strange. We’ll get you back to the city and Wynne and I will come back and find Dace.”

She nodded absently in agreement, but then a thought occurred her. “What’s the calling?” she asked in a small voice. “Lord Helmi mentioned it when we first got here, but it slipped my mind before I could ask.”

The effect of her question on Alistair was drastic. His face was pained as he refused to meet her gaze. “Maker,” he whispered. “I assumed somehow that you already knew, that maybe Duncan had told you.” Pulling her close to him, he let out a ragged breath.

“The symptoms are similar to what you’re going through now, from what I understand. What you’re experiencing now, though, is just temporary; I don’t know if it takes a few hours, or a few weeks, but it _will_ go away. Wardens don’t typically die of old age though, love. I told you before how the nightmares aren’t so bad after a while. But after a few decades they come back again, and the song—the Archdemons’ calling to the horde—is supposed to become worse.”

“...So then, when that happens, we come down here to die,” she finished for him. It wasn’t terribly cold, but she shivered nonetheless.

“Almost all Wardens take that option over slowly becoming a ghoul as the darkspawn taint overpowers them.” Alistair let her go so he could see her face. “Are you going to be okay down here?” he asked pointedly. Taking a deep breath to steel herself, Elissa nodded.

“Right then. Wait here while I talk to Wynne and let her know what’s happening, and then you and I will walk ahead a bit so the light doesn’t bother you so much.” He squeezed her hand before releasing it, and then he stepped away to talk to the mage.

 

* * *

 

It didn’t take long for Elissa to achieve a moderate level of control over the siren’s call of the horde, and a few hours later she was able to lead the others through the caverns as if she’d lived there her entire life. More than once she’d pause, frowning at the map Lady Dace had given them, before striking off in a different direction than the one marked on the scroll.

Alistair had objected the first time this happened, but when she ignored him and continued down her chosen detour he and Wynne had little choice but to follow. It was not without some smugness that she led them into the massive cavern that had once housed Aeducan thaig, where Lord Dace was said to be camped, in barely more than half the time they were told it would take to get there, and all without a single encounter. Her pride evaporated, however, as the sounds of a fight could be heard not far ahead.

Wynne dimmed her staff, as the thaig was lit with the same glow stones that lit Orzammar, and murmured a defensive spell that covered the three of them. They continued cautiously; it seemed the sounds of the skirmish had echoed throughout the caverns of the abandoned city and Elissa couldn’t pinpoint the source of the noise. Worse, the song was muted here, which meant whoever was fighting, it wasn’t darkspawn, and the Maker himself only knew what else might be down prowling the Deep Roads for prey. Her eyes scanned the landscape, searching for movement or any other sign that could guide her.

_There._

She casually moved to Alistair’s side, drawing her weapons as she moved. “You see the boulder there?” she asked, pointing toward the one she meant, and he nodded. “Good. Keep a close eye on those smaller stones around its base.”

Continuing passed him, she paused as she reached a similar collection of stones. Elissa reached forward with the toe of one boot to nudge the one nearest to her, and was rewarded with a shriek as the creature stumbled back. Unfolding its serpentine neck it hissed at her, and suddenly a chorus of shrieks answered as three other piles of stone—the one she had indicated to Alistair and two others—unraveled, revealing almost two dozen the small, reptilian beasts.

“Deep stalkers,” Wynne swore. “Elissa, get back here! And whatever you do, shield your face! Their venom can not only blind you, but paralyze you as well!”

Elissa obeyed without a word, backing up carefully to rejoin Alistair and the mage. When she was close enough, Wynne cast some sort of ward across their group, waiting as the deep stalkers continued forward. A chill ran down Elissa’s back as she recognized the next spell, and she and Alistair ducked just before it was released, covering their faces from the cold and wind to come. Within a single moment a raging blizzard enveloped them and the creatures both.

When the storm finally cleared, the ground around them was littered with twenty or so of the creatures frozen in ice, as well as a small handful of frozen stones. Elissa began to approach the nearest of them, then stopped to glance at Wynne. The mage nodded that it was safe, so Elissa knelt down to examine the beast.

Her initial assessment had been mostly correct—the little monsters seemed to be a sort of lizard, roughly a foot high each with scrawny forearms. Their heads, though, tapered into a lipless, circular maw lined with row after row of teeth. “What _are_ they?” she breathed in a sort of sick awe as she reached forward to poke at it with one finger.

“Deep stalkers,” Wynne repeated. “They’re a sort of subterranean scavenger. We get them from time to time in the basements of the Tower.”

“And the ice actually kills them? It doesn’t just disable them for a bit, like when Morrigan was fighting the demons in Redcliffe?”

“Oh, yes. Lizards and other reptiles require outside heat sources to live, so even were they not frozen solid, the cold alone would have finished them off.”

She had only been half listening to Wynne’s response, but she nodded along with it anyway. The darkspawn were getting closer and with them came that damned music, drowning out everything else. Then, suddenly, it quieted again.

Elissa stood abruptly and marched off to the south. When she realized that Alistair and Wynne weren’t following, she turned back again. “Lord Dace and his men are this way,” she explained when she saw their confused looks, and then continued into the darkness.


	27. The Prince's Favors

_“Blood or coin, the Carta always gets its cut.”_

 

Vartag Gavorn led Elissa and Alistair into Prince Bhelen’s apartments in the royal palace early the next morning, and the prince stood to greet them as they entered.

“I am impressed, Wardens,” he admitted after dismissing Gavorn. “Not many outsiders so quickly grasp Orzammar’s rather... convoluted politics. Vartag told me of your efforts against the usurper who tried to claim my father’s throne.”

Elissa shrugged. “Politics aren’t so different on the surface, your Highness. We need an ally in Orzammar to help us face the Blight, and your competition is unwilling to deal. Ferelden’s in a similar situation itself at the moment, though that won’t be lasting much longer.”

“Ah, that’s right, the messengers said one of the Wardens was the Theirin heir. My apologies, your Highness,” he nodded to Alistair. “Once the matter here is resolved, I will do whatever I can to help you reclaim your father’s throne, as you help me with mine. And of course, you will of course have Orzammar’s army at your back when you face the Blight regardless.”

“Thank you, your Highness,” Alistair replied a bit awkwardly. It occurred to Elissa that it was probably the first time a stranger had openly addressed him as such, and she resisted the urge to smile. He could have handled himself much worse.

Bhelen indicated two chairs across from his own as he took a seat. “Now then, to business. As you’ve no doubt seen for yourself, the city is a slaughterhouse. Criminals run lawless. I could never hold the throne if I allowed such chaos.”

“Why haven’t you done something about it, then?” Elissa asked pointedly. “I understand having an otherwise neutral party reveal Harrowmont’s apparent double-cross to Helmi and Dace, but wouldn’t hiring outsiders to eliminate local criminals look weak?”

“I’m willing to take that chance. If my men are assassinated while completing this task for me, there will be no one to lead my army to the surface. You _did_ want my army topside, didn’t you?”

Elissa sat back in her chair, biting at her thumb in thought. Bhelen had them exactly where he wanted them, and he knew it. He was the third son, and as such the most likely suspect behind the scandal that had resulted in one brother’s death and the other’s exile months before, but in spite of that, she didn’t sense any dishonesty from him. If they did what he asked, she believed he _would_ keep his promises, both regarding the treaty and to aid Alistair against Loghain if necessary.

“Who exactly are these criminals?” she asked finally.

“They call themselves the Carta. The vast majority of them are cowardly thugs, but their leader has one hell of a mind in that thick skull of hers. Eliminate her, and the rest will scatter. Do so in my name, and you’re that much closer to having my army on the surface when you face your Archdemon.”

She glanced at Alistair and from his scowl it was clear that he didn’t approve. In spite of this, he nodded when he met her gaze.

“Just tell me where to find her.”

They didn’t speak as they left the palace shortly afterward with their instructions. Likewise, they didn’t stop at Lord Helmi’s estate to collect Wynne for this trip. Doing so would only agitate the mage and waste precious time. The thugs that comprised the Carta were apparently numerous enough to be called a small army, and the only way that Elissa and Alistair could succeed was to get in and get out before anyone learned of their plans. Exiting the Diamond Quarter for the Commons, they continued until they stood outside a small blacksmith’s shop not far from Tapster’s. Bhelen assured them that this shop was a front for the organization, and that they could get into its base via a hidden door within.

Alistair led the way in, and Elissa closed the door behind them. A dwarf came from the back room to greet them, his face ruddy from the forge he’d just been working. His face split into a grin when he realized who they were, ushering them inside.

“I have to admit, this is the first time I’ve had the fortune to welcome Grey Wardens to my shop. What can I get for you both?”

“Are you Master Janar?” Alistair asked, and when the dwarf responded proudly that he was Elissa quietly returned to the door and locked it tight behind them. Then, passing Janar and entering the back room, she began to search a wall for the switch Gavorn had told them they would find there.

Janar followed her, huffing. “Now then, what do you- Right, now you get away from that!” he shouted in alarm as her fingers triggered the latch and the shelf to her left popped away from the wall a few inches.

“I’m sorry Master Janar, but you’re going to have to stay here with my friend,” she apologized. “If you don’t cause trouble, I’ll swear to Prince Bhelen that you were coerced into helping the Carta as you have all this time.”

The dwarf stammered incoherently and fell silent, but Alistair pulled her aside a bit. “What exactly do you mean ‘stay here with your friend’?” he hissed. “You’re _not_ going down there alone.”

Elissa smiled and gave him a small kiss, then rapped one knuckle on his armor. “You aren’t exactly stealthy in all this, love,” she pointed out with a grin. “You don’t have to like it, but I can handle this just fine on my own. Play along this time, and I’ll make it up to you later.”

Pulling the shelf further from the wall and ducking behind it before he could argue, she paused for a moment as her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light. The passage from Janar’s shop was supposed to lead down and straight for about fifty feet before looping back on itself to the left, and sure enough Elissa could just make out the flickering of torches a short distance away.

She stopped to listen as she approached the bend; hearing nothing she turned the corner and assessed the door to Jarvia’s chambers. The lock was much cruder than she’d have imagined, considering the door led to a supposed crime lord’s lair, but then again Bhelen had said that the Carta was primarily a group of thugs. Elissa’s tools had scarcely touched the mechanism when it gave, and tucking her gear away in a pouch at her waist she cracked the door open ever so slightly.

A woman’s voice echoed through the room beyond, obviously Jarvia giving orders to her men. There were a series of acknowledgements, then the sound of feet and a door opening and closing in the distance.

“Are you going to keep skulking back there, Warden? Or are you going to face me, and look me in the eye as you murder me?”

 _Shit_.

Pulling the door open Elissa cautiously entered the room, both weapons drawn. Her gaze immediately fell on at least three different tripwires; she could probably assume fairly safely that the room contained at least as many traps that couldn’t be seen. Elissa noted silently that all the wires were all stretched quite a bit lower than they might be if they’d been set by human hands, and she stepped over them easily. These traps were set to catch intruding dwarves, not humans nearly twice their height.

Jarvia noticed this as well, her expression dark. “Seems I underestimated you, assassin. I’ll not make that mistake again. Although I notice that Bhelen finally realizes his throne will mean nothing if he can’t hold on to it, yet he still doesn’t bother to send his own men. Such a shame.”

“Does it really matter that much who kills you?” Elissa asked curiously as she edged her way around the room. Two more trip wires were set up around Jarvia, forming a box with the wall behind her and one of the first three wires visible when she first entered the room. Each of the wires was connected to a pair of barrels, which Elissa guessed were filled with explosives.

“You mean who _tries_ to kill me, I think,” the dwarf corrected smugly. “You make a single move and-”

It was all the time Elissa had needed. Kicking a crude stool in the direction of the nearest tripwire and setting off small explosions from the barrels connected to it, she dashed in the opposite direction to cut off the dwarf’s only escape route. Jarvia was fast, though; much faster than she’d anticipated. In a move oddly reminiscent of Elissa’s first fight against the shrieks in the Kocari Wilds, the dwarf rolled under the Warden’s reach, slicing with both daggers at the girl’s right knee.

Elissa collapsed in pain, and realized when she tried to stand again that the connective tissues around her joint had all been severed. Shaking with pain, she struggled to pull herself up onto the opposite knee to face her opponent, but Jarvia was nowhere to be found. There was a sharp pain then as her head was jerked back, and the cold touch of steel at her throat.

“You picked the wrong side, stranger,” Jarvia whispered in her ear. “It doesn’t matter who’s king, as long as there’s a queen.”

The hands gripping her hair and pressing the knife to her throat went limp then, and Elissa felt the warm spray of blood across her back. She collapsed along with Jarvia’s now-dead body, only to be pulled up again so that Alistair could press a small red vial to her lips. She drank the medicine greedily, and he bandaged the leg as well as he could.

“I told you that you shouldn’t be down here alone,” he scolded her as he worked.

She managed a small, intoxicated little laugh. “I was doing fine until she took out my knee,” she protested, before being silenced by Alistair’s angry glare.

“Anything else need bandaging before I move you? Wynne will be able to heal you better if I don’t knock any bones out of place picking you up.”

“No, I think that’s it,” she replied, shaking her head and making the room around her swim as he carefully lifted her and carried her back up to Janar’s shop above.

Elissa could feel, more than hear, the whispers around them as Alistair carried her through the Commons and back to Lord Helmi’s home in the Diamond Quarter. All around her were the words “Carta” and “Jarvia” and dozens upon dozens of curious stares. She had dozed off in his arms as he brought her to Wynne, but even in her drugged state she could hear the mage swear as the warm tingle of her healing magic washed over Elissa’s body.

The last thought the girl had as she drifted into a deeper sleep was one of dread that she’d not heard the last of their scolding, and that if her body were smart it’d not wake her for as many mornings as possible to delay her punishment.

 

* * *

 

She couldn’t be certain how long she’d slept after Alistair brought her to Wynne, but when she woke both he and the mage were at her bedside, their expressions grim. Wincing, Elissa pulled herself into a more or less seated position from her pillows and met each of their glares.

“No, we shouldn’t have gone to confront Jarvia without first telling you, Wynne, and no, Alistair, I shouldn’t have made you wait behind while I fought her. If either or both decisions had been handled differently, I wouldn’t have been nearly crippled in the fight. Was there anything else you two wanted to scold me for?”

“I’m certain I can think of something more, but there’s no time for that right now,” the  mage replied primly. “Let me see that knee. When Alistair brought you back here there was nothing but a few bits of skin holding your leg together, and I’m still not certain how well it’s going to mend.”

Elissa was amazed when Wynne pulled back the blankets and unwrapped the bandages around her leg. The mage’s last comment had led her to believe that she’d nearly lost the limb altogether, but aside from a bit of bruising here and some swelling there, it was impossible to tell she’d even been hurt. The pain as the mage tested the knee, however, told another story.

“You could be a bit gentler, you know,” she pouted.

“I could, but then I also wouldn’t be able to gauge which tissues have yet to knit together.” Wynne’s eyes shut as she sent more healing magic into Elissa’s wounded leg, which began to itch like mad. “The tendons, muscles, and ligaments on either side appear to all be healed; the ligaments in the back are in place, but they’ve not yet fully reconnected where they were torn. You should be able to walk again in a few more days, but I’d stay in bed until then if I were you, lest you aggravate the injury further.”

 “Thank you, Wynne,” she replied, nodding obediently as the older woman collected her supplies and let herself out. Elissa was already impatient to get out of bed, but she knew better than to say as much with the mage within scolding range.

The moment the door was securely shut, on the other hand, was a different matter. Without hesitation Elissa threw her blankets off and began to swing her legs over the side of the bed. Gasping in pain as the weight of her leg pulled on her knee she paused a moment and realized that the nearest chair was at least ten feet away—much too far for her to reach on her own.

Alistair hovered at the foot of the bed with a mix of concern and amusement on his face, ready to help if she needed it. Considering his expression, Elissa wondered briefly if he was planning on helping her out of the bed to the imagined freedom of the chair, or back _into_ the bed where there was no risk of hurting herself more than she already was. “Well?” she finally demanded. “Are you going to help me up, or not?”

“Nope,” he grinned, drawing the _oh_ out obnoxiously and ending the word with an audible _pop_.

“And why not?”

The grin widened. “Such a strong Grey Warden as you should be more than capable of carrying herself ten feet from her bed to an armchair.”

Elissa glared at him silently for a long while, too furious to even reply. “I hate you,” she hissed.

“No, you don’t,” he laughed, gently helping her back into the bed and tucking the blankets around her tightly. Once she was settled he crossed to the dresser, opened a small box set atop it, and returned a moment later with a vial of medicine.

“Wynne did tell me before she woke you that you’re to drink some of this if you try to get out of bed before she says you can, though.” Unstopping the vial he handed it to her, and she sniffed at it suspiciously.

“What is it?”

He shrugged. “You ought to know better than to ask me that by now, love. I know how to take medicines, not what goes in them. Wynne just said that I was to have you drink one dose every time I think you’re about to hurt yourself from moving around.”

“Fine,” she conceded after studying both Alistair and the medicine for a moment. “At least Wynne’s medicines let me sleep without nightmares, and if I’m asleep I can’t die of boredom because I’m not allowed out of this stupid fucking bed.”

She emptied the vial, making a face, and Alistair laughed as he took it from her and kissed her on the forehead. “We’ve got to get you away from these dwarves and back to society sooner rather than later. Can you imagine the scandal if I take you to Denerim with a mouth like that on you?”

“It might do those idiots some good to hear from someone capable of saying what she thinks,” she laughed, already dizzy from the potion and forgetting her anger.

“Besides, can’t you just see the look on Eamon’s face if I did?”

 

* * *

 

Elissa may have received a reprieve from her usual taint-induced nightmares while she had access to Wynne’s medicine stash, but Alistair was not so lucky. When he woke up shouting two nights later it immediately became obvious why: the darkspawn’s call was the loudest it had been on any day since her own Joining, louder even than when they were in the Deep Roads a week prior, and if Alistair was hearing even a fraction of what Elissa was, it was a miracle he’d been able to sleep at all.

She carefully got up and padded to the dresser where a small pitcher of water sat to pour him a small cup and made a face. The water here stank of too-old eggs, but she brought it back to him anyway as she tried to soothe him.

“...shouldn’t be moving around so much,” he mumbled groggily as he took the cup from her and drank.

“Here to the dresser isn’t far, and Wynne said yesterday I could move around so long as I was careful.” she smiled as she played with his hair a bit. “Your hair’s grown quite a bit, you’ll need to have it cut before the Landsmeet.”

She glanced at him when he didn’t reply, and realized that he’d already dozed off again, the empty cup still in his hands. Smiling, she took the cup and set it on the nightstand before curling up to him to sleep again herself.

The next morning Elissa was woken by a red-haired dwarven woman they’d not seen before as she let herself in to build up the fire. When she realized they were awake, she smiled and curtsied.

“How is your leg, my lady?” she asked, and Elissa noticed the tattoo that marked her as casteless.

Elissa tried to rub the sleep from her eyes and to banish the darkspawn’s song from her mind. “It’s much better,” she finally replied. “I’m sorry, you are...?”

The dwarf curtsied again. “Rica, my lady. Bhelen said you’d been hurt when you faced Jarvia and ran the Carta out of Orzammar. Which, by the way, I should be thanking you for. Bearing the prince a son has allowed me to escape most of Dust Town’s peculiar brand of politics, but it was still something has tried to haunt me.”

Alistair mumbled something from beside her, and Elissa absently ran her fingers through his hair to quiet him.

“Men are much the same regardless of race, aren’t they?” Rica smiled briefly. “At any rate, Bhelen said he’d like to speak with the two of you this morning, if you’re well enough to come to the palace. There was another vote last night, and a number of the deshyrs were killed in the brawl that broke out as a result.”

Sighing, Elissa reached for her robe, tying it around her as she rose. “How many? More importantly, how many were ours?”

“I don’t know the specifics, my lady. Only that there was a brawl, and that Bhelen’s been in a fit ever since.”

“We’ll be there as soon as possible,” Elissa promised.

To call Prince Bhelen’s state when they finally arrived a _fit_ was an understatement, like saying that the Frostbacks were cold or that the Anderfels were a barren wasteland. A fit was what Elissa threw when she was a child and she couldn’t get her way. No, a _fit_ was definitely not what Bhelen was having right now as he swore in multiple languages, finally upending a side table.

Elissa scowled, not even flinching when the furniture started flying. “So what you’re saying,” she began, struggling to keep her voice even, “is that everything we’ve done, including convincing Helmi and Dace into changing their votes with those forged papers of yours—yes, I’d guessed as much, though I’m assuming there was some truth to them nonetheless or else the two families wouldn’t have reacted as they had—and eliminating the Carta for you and nearly _losing my leg_ , and we’re back to square one?”

“Not square one, but sodding close to it,” the dwarven prince swore again. “With the state the assembly is in now, only a damned paragon could unite them.”

She and Alistair shared a long, suspicious look. “The last we heard, the only paragon to be named for generations vanished into the Deep Roads two years ago,” Alistair pointed out.

“Right you are, your Highness. I’d prefer Branka herself be retrieved, but even if she’s been killed, definitive word of her fate could be used to sway enough votes my way based solely on the investigation itself.”

Elissa paced while she considered this. Retrieving Branka or any word of her expedition would mean returning to the Deep Roads, a trip she was not looking forward to repeating. If Zevran were here, he’d simply eliminate enough of Harrowmont’s votes that there would be no need for a paragon to force a decision. Leliana would be more subtle, charming her way through the deshyrs of the Assembly. Morrigan... well, Morrigan could probably frighten a _few_ of the deshyrs into behaving, but Elissa would probably have to bribe Sten with sweets to get any input from him in this situation.

“You understand that Wynne hasn’t cleared me to fight since the incident with Jarvia,” she told him pointedly. “And if I can’t fight, I’m not going to risk myself and my companions with a trip into the Deep Roads on a fool’s errand that’s likely not to get us any progress to begin with.”

“And yet you’ve gone from nearly losing one of your legs to walking without the slightest limp in what, five days? That mage of yours works miracles, Warden. I’m certain she could have you in fighting condition by the end of the week.”

“No.”

Bhelen and Elissa both spun to Alistair with questioning looks. “No?” she repeated with one arched eyebrow.

The challenge hung there for a moment, but he didn’t back down. “No. Even with Wynne’s magic and medicines, it’s too soon for you to be in those caverns.”

Elissa smiled apologetically to Prince Bhelen as she took Alistair by the arm and dragged him from the room. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she hissed.

“I’m keeping my fiancée alive. Even if Wynne does say you’re fit to go back into battle so soon, the _last_ place you need to be is in the Deep Roads and any closer to the horde than we already are.”

Sighing, Elissa pinched at her nose, briefly regretting telling Alistair to stand up for himself more often following the incident with Goldanna the last time they were in Denerim. This was a monster of her own creation, and she was going to have to deal with it.

“I swear, love, we won’t go until Wynne says it’s safe for me to fight, but there’s not much choice regarding the darkspawn horde itself. For all we know, the same thing could happen to me on the surface when we finally face the Archdemon.” She ran her fingers along the stubble on his jaw and gave him a small smile. “The only difference is that here, I might be able to use whatever is in my head when we’re in those caves to keep us alive long enough to get back to the surface. We _need_ to use that advantage before it’s gone, love.”

Alistair walked away a few paces and swore, then finally returned, shaking his head. “You’re not taking a single _step_ toward that gate, much less through it and into the caverns, until Wynne gives you the all clear. Even then, if I feel you’ve become too affected by the horde, we come back and you wait here while Wynne and I go instead. Agreed?”

“Of course,” she lied. Elissa knew that if she actually did end up too far gone, Wynne and Alistair together would be capable of disabling her and bringing her back whether she agreed or not. She really didn’t see much reason for worrying him anymore than he already was, but there was no way in the Void she was going to let anyone else go into the Deep Roads in her place.


	28. Urthemiel

There in the depths of the earth they dwelled,  
Spreading their taint as a plague, growing in number  
Until they were a multitude.  
And together they searched ever deeper  
Until they found their prize,  
Their god, their betrayer.  
 _-Threnodies 8:27_

 

A few days later—Elissa hesitated to call them mornings anymore, it seemed like so long since she’d seen a proper morning—she was packing her gear for their coming expedition and trying to ignore Wynne as the mage lectured her for agreeing to this latest errand for Bhelen.

“Wynne, if she’s not going to listen to me, she’s not going to listen to you either,” Alistair pointed out as he finished his breakfast. “Once we’re in the caverns I’ll take point, that way anything we come across will have to get through me first.”

“And what about the taint? What if that overpowers her while we’re down there? You two are the only Grey Wardens in Ferelden. We need both of you whole; not one of you insane in the Deep Roads and the other sick with grief.” Wynne stared Elissa down coldly from across the room. “I told you once, child, that love is ultimately selfish. See to it that you do not jeopardize the lives of every man, woman, and child in Thedas with your selfishness.”

Elissa glared at the mage. “You can leave, Wynne. _Now_. And you can go back to the surface, to Redcliffe or to the tower or fucking Tevinter for all I care, if you aren’t going to be any help to Alistair and I here.”

“That’s not what I meant, Elissa, and you know it,” Wynne replied with a sigh. “I just worry that one or both of you will be unable to make rational decisions in the face of a true crisis.”

“You aren’t helping your case.”

Sighing again, the mage collected her medicine packs and excused herself. “I’ll be in my room when the two of you are ready to go. I may not agree with the choice you’ve made, but I’m not going to let the two of you go into the Deep Roads without a healer. Send someone for me when you’re ready.”

As Wynne opened the door to leave she was greeted by an impressive belch. The dwarf on the other side had one hand raised as if to knock while the other clutched an impressive battle axe. In spite of the hour he was clearly drunk, wobbling on his feet as he blinked owlishly at the mage.

“Yer awfully old-lookin’ to be that Warden lass I’ve been hearing bout. You didn’t go gettin’ all wrinkly after fighting Jarvia, did ya?”

“Er... no,” she replied with a slightly disgusted expression and glanced back at the two Wardens. “Elissa, I believe you have a guest.”

The dwarf pushed Wynne out of the way and stumbled into the room to squint at Elissa. “Bit tall for my tastes, but damn if you don’t have a pair of tits on ya.”

Alistair began to choke on his food, and Elissa gave the dwarf a withering glare. “Was there something I can help you with?”

“I’ll bet there is, but judging by pretty boy’s reaction over there he’d have some objections,” the dwarf laughed, still leering at her for a long moment before collecting himself. “Anyway, word has it Prince Bhelen is sending you lot into the Deep Roads after Branka. I’m sure he or Vartag have given you maps, information, and whatever else, but you’ll need me along too.”

Elissa appraised the dwarf dubiously. “And what makes you think we need a fall-down drunk with us when facing the darkspawn horde?”

“Well for one,” he began, suppressing another belch, “the darkspawn can’t smell me the way they can probably smell you, what with your taint and all.” The dwarf paused, giggling to himself. “Heh... taint... Anyway and for two, I know stuff about the stuff Branka was goin’ down there for in the first place, stuff Bhelen doesn’t know.”

“You know stuff about stuff?” Alistair asked, incredulous. “How is that supposed to help us?”

“Cause she was my wife, you twit! Even though she didn’t actually tell me her plans, that glorious bitch talked in her sleep damn near every night. Let me guess, Bhelen’s told you to head to Caridin’s Cross, yeah? D’you have any idea where yer goin’ after that, when you don’t find her there? Cause you won’t, you know.”

Glancing at Alistair, Elissa could see the doubt on his face. What _would_ they do if they didn’t find Branka, or some sign of her, in Caridin’s Cross?

“I haven’t decided to take you with us yet, but what’s your name?” she asked finally.

“Name’s Oghren,” he bowed, falling over himself. Elissa sighed and helped him back up, jumping slightly as he slapped her rear. “’Ere’s a good girl,” he laughed, and she resisted the urge to punch him.

“Just... wait for a bit while Alistair and I talk.”

“Fine by me,” Oghren grunted. “You need me, send somebody by Tapster’s.”

Elissa shut the door securely behind him once Oghren stumbled out, then collapsed into a chair next to Alistair at the table. “He’s the one that got kicked out of Tapster’s the first few nights we were here, isn’t he?”

“Three nights in a row, at least. He’s also made a scene at least twice that I know of while you were recovering, carrying that axe around; apparently he’s not supposed to be armed within the city anymore.”

Chewing on her thumb, she glanced at the door again. “What if he’s right about Branka, though? If we don’t find any sign of her at Caridin’s Cross…”

“…then the entire trip could be a waste,” Alistair finished for her. “Still, I don’t know. He doesn’t seem… reliable. You think he’s worth the risk?”

“If nothing else, he’s another blade,” she shrugged. “If one of us gets hurt, it’ll be good to have one more along to help us get back.”

“We’ll collect him on the way, then. But you get to tell Wynne.”

 

* * *

 

Wynne initially seemed pleased that they would have another companion on their next venture into the Deep Roads, but was decidedly less so when she realized Oghren would be the one joining them. He was only slightly drunker when he met them at the heavy doors out of the city than he was earlier that morning at Lord Helmi’s estate, though when the mage shot Elissa a slightly dark look following the dwarf’s third extensive belch she and Alistair decided that it was time to get moving.

Once again as the gateway sealed behind them Wynne lit her staff with what would normally be a soft glow, and Elissa shied away as far from the light as she could to keep from being blinded. Alistair tried to keep close to her, shielding her from danger, but as before she began to pause at each intersection, listening to the song of the horde for a few moments before striking off in another direction from the route marked on their map.

Oghren seemed content to troop along with Wynne, not seeming to care which path they took until actually reaching Caridin’s cross. He spent most of his time regaling her his conquests, as he called them, until finally the mage snapped at him to be quiet if he didn’t have anything better to talk about. That led to discussion of his hobby brewing, a topic that Elissa was a bit surprised to find out Wynne was quite knowledgeable of.

Before long, though the hairs on the back of Elissa’s neck began to rise to match the increasing tempo of the darkspawn’s song. They couldn’t have been more than an hour from Aeducan Thaig, the group’s only stop between Orzammar and Caridin’s Cross, but a swarm of the spawn was clustered shockingly close to their location and the only way around it would set them back at least three more hours.

Wynne dimmed her staff as the party paused and considered their options. The group of darkspawn ahead was composed almost entirely of genlocks, plus two shrieks and an emissary by the smell of things. It didn’t occurr to Elissa that she’d never been able to identify a group by scent before, and so it never occurred to her that there might have been something unsual about the change. Regardless, even though the darkspawn outnumbered them at least three to one, the tunnels between them narrowed considerably, limiting the number of foes they’d have to face at a time to two or three at most.

Oghren squinted at the small map Elissa had scrawled in the dirt showing the positions of each of the spawn, grunted, unstrapped his axe and began to stomp in the direction of the darkspawn. After a few moments he began shouting expletives deeper into the caverns to goad their enemies out.

“Is he insane?” she heard Wynne whisper urgently as the dwarf became more and more obscene.

“I’m slightly more curious if they’d even understand what he’s saying,” Alistair shrugged. “Aside from just being annoyed at the noise he’s making, that is.”

Elissa barely heard any of this—a new melody had suddenly intruded itself in her mind beneath the usual noise she suffered. It was subtle compared to what she was used to hearing; sinuous and seductive compared to the almost desperate tribal beats she’d grown accustomed to.

Shaking her head, she rid herself of this second song and forced herself to focus on the first. The darkspawn ahead of them had taken notice of Oghren, but their attention was so focused on the obnoxious dwarf that they didn’t seem to sense Elissa and Alistair yet.

“Wynne, can you do anything to stop the shrieks from flanking us?”

“I can prevent them from coming within a certain range, but we won’t be able to leave the glyph’s area without becoming vulnerable again.”

“That’s fine,” she replied absently, listening again. “Use that on yourself, while Alistair and I take care of anything that gets passed Oghren. I’ll stay close, that way I can jump back into your range if necessary…” Trailing off, she listened again for that second melody, but it was finally gone.

The first clashes of steel could be heard from further down the tunnels. “After you, love,” she sighed to Alistair, following as he led the way down the tunnel with Wynne behind them.

* * *

 

“What in the name of the Void was that?”

Oghren paused from cleaning his axe to take a long draw on the wine skin he carried with him. “Ya wanted them dead, didn’t cha?”

“Well, yes,” Elissa stammered, trying to focus in spite of the incessant noise drowning out all thought. “But running off and facing a dozen or more darkspawn on your own isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“Bah, dead’s dead. If you wanted me to save ya some you should have said somethin.”

Elissa shook her head in resignation. Oghren clearly was accustomed to fighting in a certain way—assuming one could call the spinning torrent of steel Oghren unleashed _fighting_. She made a mental note to stay outside of his reach in any further skirmishes to keep from losing any stray limbs.

“Let’s just get going,” she sighed finally. “We can’t be more than an hour from Aeducan Thaig; we’ll push through it and straight to Caridin’s Cross. Oghren, it’s what, ten leagues from Aeducan Thaig to the Cross?”

The dwarf thought about it, scratching himself absently. “Probably more like fifteen to twenty, but for a human you’ve got damn good stone sense about ya. Whatever instinct you’re following, it can probably get us there in ten.”

She tried not to think about the instincts Oghren thought she was following down in these caves. With the death of the nearest darkspawn band that new, enticing melody had taken center stage again, and with a bit of terror she realized it was drawing her deeper into the caverns.

Scowling, Elissa left the others behind and began her way over the bodies of the dead darkspawn and toward the thaig. Alistair followed, and Oghren and Wynne caught up shortly afterward. She didn’t speak to any of them as she pressed forward through the Deep Roads, beyond Aeducan Thaig and on to Caridin’s Cross.

The hours passed as they trudged forever deeper. Elissa was vaguely aware of conversations behind her, mostly between Wynne and Oghren, though Alistair joined in every now and again. Finally, Alistair stopped her and suggested they camp around the time she guessed that they were halfway to the crossing. When she stared at him a bit blankly he pointed out that Wynne and Oghren didn’t have the benefit of the Warden stamina to carry them as she did, and she reluctantly agreed.

Stopping only made the lure of the caverns worse. At least while they kept moving—whether avoiding or battling the darkspawn—she could focus on something else. _Anything_ else. But sitting here in the dark, waiting while the others slept, was unbearable. Worse, Alistair suggested finally that she rest as well. The moment she closed her eyes, she was assaulted with visions of the horde clamoring toward an unseen goal.

Elissa knew that if he let herself, she could follow along with them to their destination, to find what they sought, but the thought of what she might encounter terrified her. So instead she sat in silence, pretending to sleep whenever she sensed Alistair’s concerned glances.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally couldn’t take the waiting any longer. Elissa woke the others and insisted that they move along, and that they could rest properly once they reached the crossroad and had searched it for signs of Branka. As long as she had something she could focus on, be it a fight, the search for the paragon, even setting one foot ahead of the other, Elissa could pretend that she was in control of her actions. More importantly, with a focus for her attention she could project the _illusion_ of self-control to Alistair so that he wouldn’t call off their expedition and return her to Orzammar. But the waiting while the others slept… It was going to kill her, and the deeper they delved, the worse the calling became.

 

* * *

 

The crossroad was overrun when they reached it, and while the area wasn’t terribly large, it took them hours to clear it of the darkspawn that had set camp there. In spite of the tainted environment, the dwarven architecture was nearly intact here, and the lyrium twisted into the stone blocked out much of the distractions of the darkspawn and the Deep Roads themselves.

Setting down her gear as they made their own camp, Elissa turned to Oghren. “Any sign of Branka?”

“Oh, aye,” he replied a bit distantly. “You can see her hands all over this place.”

“And?”

“It was her first time to these tunnels, you see. Whenever Branka’d go through a new tunnel she’d chip off a bit of rock at regular intervals, categorize them, and study them later. Said the composition of the stone, the direction she travelled, and the depth of the tunnels together told her all sorts of things.” The dwarf shook his head almost sadly. “She’s long gone from here though, like I warned ya she would be.”

Alistair settled down beside her, passing her one pouch of food and handing another to the dwarf. “Where to now, then?” he asked.

“I’d say Ortan Thaig, by the trail she’s left behind. Can’t say I’m terribly upset about that. I would have sworn she was headed to Bownammar, but if we can avoid that damned place, even better.”

The name Bownammar set off bells of both alarm and joy within Elissa’s mind, though she was fairly certain she’d never heard the term before now. She knew without a doubt that whatever the power was that drew her deeper into these cursed tunnels, she’d find the source of that power there.

“Why would she have gone there?” Wynne asked, finally joining them. She’d found clean water about halfway through Caridin’s Cross, and had collected enough so they could clean the darkspawn gore off as much as possible while still having enough left to bring along. She passed a wet rag to each of them; Elissa and Alistair took theirs gratefully but Oghren just sort of grunted as she passed him his.

“Well, Caridin built the place, so she figured that he’d have some of his secrets hidden there. It’s been abandoned by all but the Legion for so long, though, so I dunno if she decided to go to Ortan first and then to Bownammar, or skip the damned trenches altogether.”

Elissa fell silent while the others discussed the path ahead of them. The overall cacophony of the horde was lessened here, but the newer melody was growing steadily stronger, forever trying to draw her deeper into the caverns.

“What’s that, love?”

She shook herself alert at the sound of Alistair’s voice. “What’s what?”

“That song you were humming. I can’t quite place it, but it sounded familiar for some reason.”

“I- I…” stammering, she trailed off. _Had_ she been humming? She didn’t remember anything of the sort. Shaking her head, she gave him a weak smile.

“I must have dozed off.”

He didn’t argue, but Elissa could feel his worried scowl as she busied herself with their packs.

They held their camp for as long as Elissa could stand—about six hours according to Oghren and the funny little locket he kept in one of his packs—before she finally forced them to pack everything up and start moving again. Ortan Thaig was about fifteen miles to the south of the crossroads and the junior Warden walked a short way ahead of the others with her head tilted to one side, listening to—no, listening _for_ , she corrected herself—the darkspawn horde. It felt like they were gathering somewhere off to the west, and Elissa was both relieved and disappointed that she wasn’t headed in the same direction.

It felt like forever, but in reality only about five hours passed before they reached the thaig, then three more before they found their way to one of Branka’s old campsites. It was impossible to tell how long it had been abandoned, and Elissa wandered away a bit as Oghren skimmed through a pile of journals left behind. They’d passed quite a few abandoned spiders’ nests large enough that she could have climbed into one, so she carried a lit torch just in case to ward off any of the critters if she came across them as she roamed.

“Looks like we’re going to Bownammar after all; Branka just made a detour here to look for one of Caridin’s old journals.” Elissa had heard Alistair’s words, but only barely; the moment he’d said them her blood began to sing at the thought of venturing deeper within the caves.

“I…” she faltered a moment as her instincts fought one another. “I don’t know if we should go any further. At the very least, we shouldn’t be taking Oghren and Wynne with us. They aren’t Wardens; they don’t deserve the trouble we’re after.”

She could see the look in his eye as he studied her—he was about to take her back to the city and return to the Deep Roads on his own. “What trouble are you expecting, love?” he asked carefully.

“I don’t know, exactly,” she admitted, embarrassed. “But the darkspawn are massing, organizing, somewhere to the west of us. As much as I know everyone in Denerim would like it, I don’t think the horde is planning on moving to Orlais.”

Alistair paused to think about this. “Well, you’re actually _telling_ me about this, so I’m guessing you’re well enough to continue on yourself. I’ll tell you what: _you_ convince Wynne and Oghren to go back to Orzammar, and then you and I will continue on. But you’re going to be responsible for getting them to go. Good luck getting Wynne to stop mothering us, and I seriously doubt you’re going to talk Oghren into abandoning Branka down here, not after we’ve come so far already.” He stopped a moment and gave her a quiet, sad smile. “I know that no one would be able to talk me out of it, were it you down here.”

Sighing, she let him wrap one arm around her shoulders and slowly walk her back to Branka’s old camp where the others waited.

“To Bownammar, then?” Wynne prompted when they returned.

Elissa hesitated only a moment, her eyes flitting to the exit from the thaig and further into the Deep Roads not far behind the mage. “To Bownammar,” she agreed quietly.

 

* * *

 

Somewhere in the distance, a steady drip counted the seconds. The seconds became minutes, the minutes hours, and the hours finally became nearly an entire day. Here they encountered a small band of darkspawn; there they fought off deep stalkers scavenging what little flesh remained from the corpses of the long dead. When Oghren told them they were roughly halfway from Ortan Thaig to the Dead Trenches and the fortress at Bownammar, they stopped to camp for a few hours, and Elissa tried and failed to sleep.

Between the two melodies battling in her mind—one sinuous, snaking its way into her thoughts and the other a harsh, tribal response to the original—and that incessant dripping, Elissa was convinced that she was going to lose her mind. More than once she caught herself humming along with the first tune, trying to answer it as the second melody did, though to her knowledge no one else had noticed and she stopped herself as soon as she began.

Eventually, _finally_ , Oghren led them to the lyrium-laced door that would open out to the cavern whose walls Bownammar occupied. As the dwarf worked each of the latches on the heavy doors, Elissa became more and more light headed, gloriously drunk on the power that oozed through the metal of the doors, through the stone of the caverns, through her very being. Oghren barely had the door cracked when she pulled away from Alistair, passed the mage and dwarf, and into the cavern beyond.

Andraste and the Maker couldn’t have timed it better if they’d tried. The moment Elissa cleared the passage and entered the cavern there was a terrible, _beautiful_ shriek as a dragon at least twice the size of the one in Haven flew up from the cavern and perched on a bridge overlooking the depths below. Even from where she stood now, she could see the massing throngs of darkspawn clamoring over one another to be closer to the beast, and it screeched its approval to them.

“ _Ur_ _themiel._ ”

The name passed through her lips as the barest of whispers, awed and reverent. Alistair came from behind her and jerked her to the ground behind a large boulder, and she struggled against him to stand. The dragon bellowed again, lifting up from its perch and hovering over the horde. It was so close that Elissa could feel the beating of its own heart within her veins, and she bit the hand that Alistair had clamped over her mouth to keep her quiet. He let her go with a quiet yelp, and she darted toward the chasm, fully intending to leap onto the beast from above when it flew passed again.

She stumbled only when the glyph appeared at her feet, binding her to the spot where she fell, and she was forced to watch her guaranteed chance to end the Blight soar away.


	29. Sacrificed to the Cause

_“Now you lay and wait, for their screams will haunt you in your dreams.”_

 

For the second time in as many weeks, Elissa woke to find Alistair and Wynne both glaring at her, and she returned a glare of her own without reservation.

“Care to explain what your theatrics today were about?”

Her eyes flitted to the mage and narrowed. “I’d like to speak to Alistair alone, please,” she replied, almost too softly to be heard. Wynne nodded in response and let herself out of the small room they were in, pulling the door shut behind her. Elissa wondered briefly where they could be that had rooms with doors to be shut, but shrugged the curiosity off. Considering where she last remembered being, this was probably one of the outposts of Bownammar.

Elissa took a long, deep breath before meeting Alistair’s gaze again. “Everything seems to be mostly back to normal now, but I’ve been hearing more than just the horde for a while now,” she admitted. “Possibly since we first entered Orzammar, before we even went to Aeducan Thaig the first time.”

“You mean the Archdemon?”

“I wasn’t certain what I was hearing until we saw him, but yes, it was the Archdemon. Urthemiel sings to the horde, and they sing back to answer him. What we normally hear as Wardens is just the darkspawn’s reply; it’s crude and harsh and a mockery of the original. But the dragon’s song… it’s just beautiful. I don’t know, I thought maybe you could hear it too.” She paused for a moment before continuing quietly, “You do realize that the Blight could have been ended here if the two of you hadn’t stopped me.”

“Or you could have missed, and ended up a smear at the bottom of the ravine.” He sat at the edge of the rough cot and cupped her face in his hands, his fingers tangling in her hair. “Honestly, I wasn’t quite sure what was going on when you took off the way you did. I’ve heard of Wardens losing their minds in the Deep Roads, and I was afraid that had happened to you. But I’m not going to lose you, to the Archdemon or anything else, and that includes to your own misguided heroics.”

_…no Warden who has ever faced an Archdemon has lived regardless of whether he managed to slay the beast…_

Duncan’s warning from before she reached Ostagar haunted her, but she didn’t have the strength right now to bring it up with Alistair. Sighing, she leaned into him, grateful that where ever they were, it was obviously safe enough for him to have removed most of his armor.

“I love you,” she murmured against his hand. “But as much as I hate Wynne every time she says it, she’s right. The Blight _has_ to come first, even before us. I can’t promise that I won’t take the chance if I’m given another opportunity.”

He lifted her chin so that she’d meet his eyes again. “Cousland to the bone, aren’t you?” he asked with a small smile.

Elissa returned the smile, her own fingers toying with his hair. “It’s a bit hard to shake twenty years’ worth of being taught to do your duty before all else,” she replied a bit ruefully. “…You don’t necessarily have to tell Wynne I said she was right, you know,” she added as an afterthought.

Alistair grinned evilly, nuzzling at her neck. “I don’t know, what’s in it for me to keep quiet?”

“Are you _blackmailing_ me?” she laughed, trying and failing to push him away, but she didn’t argue when he began to unbuckle her remaining armor nonetheless.

 

* * *

 

They left the dwarven fortress of Bownammar the next morning, waiting outside while Alistair met briefly with the leader of the battalion stationed there. While she and the others waited, Elissa wandered over to the bridge where the Archdemon had landed the day before and cautiously leaned over to look down the side of the chasm. The pit was _much_ deeper than she’d realized before, and she was thankful that they’d stopped her attempt on the dragon after all—if she _had_ missed the beast, she’d have had far more time to contemplate her mistake than she was comfortable with.

“Dammit, Alistair, I told you yesterday you ought to tie a rope or somethin’ around her before we go!”

Rolling her eyes, she returned to where Wynne and the dwarf waited. “Oghren, I told you just like I told Alistair last night and Wynne this morning; with the Archdemon gone, I’m better now. No Archdemon means no extra noise in my head to distract me.”

“Hrmph… So you say. And I don’t think they oughtta be letting you carry around any sharp objects, either, even if it is the Deep Roads. But no, no one listens to Oghren,” he muttered under his breath.

“That’s because people don’t listen to drunks, dear,” she replied so sweetly that even Wynne chuckled.

Alistair rejoined them while Oghren was still sputtering, giving Elissa a small kiss as he collected his packs. “I tried to convince Kardol to come to the surface with us to fight the darkspawn, but apparently pretending to be dead down here is serious business. He said he’d consider bringing the Legion to the surface, but I don’t think he’s going to think too hard on it.”

“You never know,” Wynne began as they started across the bridge. “The Legion did help your father once, after all. If they knew who you were, it’s possible that they’d join you in his memory.”

“I’d rather not have to rely on royal promises,” he sighed, “but if it comes to that I may try. At any rate, he says not even they have gone beyond this point in decades, but the latest records they have say that it’s about five hours to the next set of tunnels.”

“And that’s the way that Branka went?” Elissa frowned, trying to understand what reason there could possibly be for the paragon to go even further into the Deep Roads.

It was a little while before anyone realized that Oghren wasn’t following them, and when Elissa turned to look back at the dwarf, he was wearing an expression of awe mixed with terror. “Are you coming?” she called back, confused by his sudden change.

“Yeah, yeah…” he muttered as he started to follow again. “By the Ancestors… that crazy bitch actually located the Anvil. No wonder she never came back, she’s probably still figurin’ the sodding thing out.”

Elissa frowned. “What anvil?”

“ _The_ Anvil,” Oghren stressed. “I’ll explain it as we go. Following Branka’s trail shouldn’t be too much trouble from here.”

That much he was right about. He’d pointed out to them a while back what it looked like when the paragon took her rock samples as she travelled, and the trail led them through the caverns of the Trenches with an almost single-minded focus toward what lay beyond.

A simple trail didn’t mean a simple trek, unfortunately. Less than a quarter hour after they cleared the great bridge, the party was practically wading through every variety of darkspawn imaginable and then some. Oghren did what he could to explain Caridin’s development of the Anvil of the Void, the accomplishment that lifted him to Paragon, but there was little enough time from one fight to the next for them to catch their breaths, much less talk.

Worse, as the hours passed and they delved deeper into the cavern, the more the stone itself became blighted. At first it was simply an oily film here and there on the walls, but eventually the corruption became so widespread that it seemed to bubble out of the rock itself, making each step a danger in itself, to say nothing for the dangers of each band of the darkspawn they continued to encounter.

Oghren had figured that they had only a league or so before reaching the next set of tunnels when the first of the echoing verses reached them.

“ _First day, they come and catch everyone._ ”

“Dammit, Alistair, I told you she was still batshit! I don’t care how good a roll she is, crazy’s still crazy!”

“That wasn’t me, you jackass,” Elissa hissed back at Oghren. Aside from the soldiers of the Legion they’d come across no one but darkspawn in these tunnels, but now the unmistakable sound of a woman’s voice floated through the caves from somewhere ahead. The four of them stood in silence, listening, but there was nothing more.

Elissa had barely begun to lead them forward again when the next lines wafted from beyond.

“ _Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat… Third day, the men are all gnawed on again… Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate…_ ”

“Maybe it’s just me, but it doesn’t sound like this story’s going to have a happy ending,” Alistair muttered at her side, and Elissa silently agreed.

They continued in silence, straining to hear if the voice continued.

“ _Fifth day, they return and it’s another girl’s turn… Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams…_ ”

“Oghren,” Wynne began delicately, “there’s no chance that we’re hearing Branka, is there? It has been years since she came down here.”

“What? No,” he waved off the question. “It has to be one of the members of the House that came down with her.”

Another thought occurred to Elissa, and it chilled her blood. “What if it’s _about_ Branka? If we’ve come all this way and she’s dead…”

“Listen, Crazy, no man, woman, or child in Orzammar called ever Branka a ‘girl’ but me, and even that was long before she was declared Paragon. It’s somebody else, talkin’ about somebody else.”

“ _Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew._ ”

Shivering, Elissa tried and failed to clear the images summoned by the twisted verses. “Let’s just keep going. There has to be an end to… this… somewhere ahead.”

The corruption remained, but gradually the caves gave way to cut stone once more, and glow stones struggled to light the way through the slime that covered them.

“ _Eighth day, we hate it as she is violated… Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin…_ ”

Something tugged at Elissa’s memory, a comment made in passing that she couldn’t quite place that the horrible poem was somehow related to. She wished the others were with there with them, especially Leliana and Morrigan. The bard and witch may not be fond of one another, but between their separate educations at least one of the two would have an inkling what it meant. Grimacing, she pressed forward through the muck and the ever increasing number of genlocks they encountered.

It wasn’t until she heard the last line of the poem from just behind her in the next room she entered that Elissa felt the monstrous presence in the chambers ahead.

“ _Now she does feast, as she’s become the beast!_ ”

Her first instinct was to rush to help the woman cowering amongst the darkspawn filth that seeped from the walls and floor of the room—until, that is, Elissa noticed the strange discoloration of the woman’s skin, the deadness of her eyes, the strange angle at which she held her neck, and the noticeable twitches whenever she moved. There was also a certain smell, not the same yet not unlike that of a genlock, and Elissa caught her hand sliding cautiously toward her sword.

“By the sodding Stone,” Oghren swore once he caught sight of the wretch. “Hespith… I always said you weren’t much better than a noble chaser, the way you always tried to worm yourself as close as you could to those in power. Now look at’cha, all ghouled up and uglier than ever.”

Elissa spared the briefest of glances first at the dwarf, and then to Alistair and Wynne before fixing back on the creature before her. “You know each other, I take it?”

“Know her?” he scoffed. “This is the bitch Branka left me for. Looks like she got what she deserved, you ask me.”

“I was her captain, and I did not stop her. Her lover, and I could not turn her,” the creature lamented, her voice husky with sorrow. “Forgive her… But no, she cannot be forgiven. Not for what she did. Not for what she has become.”

Hespith’s eyes widened as if she noticed Elissa and the others for the first time. “We tried to escape, but they found us. They took us all, turned us. The men, killed… no purpose for the men but food. But the women they want. Want to touch, to mold, to change and to fill. Dear Laryn… tore off her husband’s face and drank his blood.”

 _Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin_.

“…She swelled and turned grey and smelled like them. Remade in their image… Then she made more of them…”

“Broodmother,” Elissa breathed, remembering finally the conversation with Morrigan in Lanaya’s camp, her blood running cold. The swarms of genlocks throughout the ruin, the presence up ahead… like fools, they’d stumbled into a darkspawn breeding ground.

Until that very moment, she hadn’t truly considered the dangers of the Deep Roads—not that they posed to anyone, or even the risk of insanity that she faced due to the horde’s calling—but the very real fact that she would not be granted a quick, merciful death were she to fall in these caves. Desperately, she recalled the lines of Hespith’s chant.

 _Fifth day, they return and it’s another girl’s turn_.

It stood to reason that not just anyone would necessarily have the traits needed to survive the transformation. But Elissa was already tainted; would that protect her, or speed the process along? And how was Hespith still alive? Had her taint hidden her from the darkspawn somehow, or were they merely saving her for later?

_I do not believe in leaving animals to suffer needlessly._

The tears flowed freely down her cheeks as the Warden knelt before the dwarven woman and gathered her in her arms. Hespith stiffened, at first in surprise at the kindness, but then her gaze fell to the dagger sunk deep between her ribs. Her lips parted as if to speak and a thin trickle of blood ran down her chin; after the longest moment in Elissa’s life the fog cleared from Hespith’s clouded eyes and the slightest trace of a smile graced her lips as the Warden removed her dagger and Hespith’s lifeless body collapsed.

Numbly, Elissa cleaned and re-sheathed her dagger, then turned and walked passed the others to the door at the opposite end of the room. The door was sealed from the other side, but even the dwarven lock didn’t hold long against the gentle probing of her tools. She didn’t even bother to see if her companions followed her as she shoved the heavy door open with her shoulder and made her way to the broodmother within.

 

* * *

 

Only by some horrifying miracle could the beast before them had ever been anything other than a mass of breasts and tentacles and tainted ooze, but Oghren confirmed quietly that the face of the creature resembled what he vaguely remembered of the girl Laryn who had left Orzammar with Branka two years ago. At least the party had been blessed with the fortune—if one could call it that—to come upon the broodmother while she fed, so that her attention was elsewhere.

They watched quietly for a while, trying to discover any weaknesses they could, but rather than weaknesses they identified her primary advantage—namely, that she could grasp objects with her tentacles as readily as she would have with her arms before her transformation from woman to beast. Even worse, while it didn’t appear that Laryn herself could move, her snaking appendages could burrow in and out of the ground around her, and they were damn quick, too. Avoiding them while still getting close enough to deal any damage was going to be nearly impossible.

Frowning, Elissa caught herself just before she began to chew on the thumb of one of her gore-coated gloves. “Wynne, that glyph you cast on me before, do you think that would work here? I know it looks like she can’t move around, but when it was cast on me I couldn’t even move a finger. It would do the same to those tentacles, right?”

“Theoretically, yes,” the mage allowed. “I will try it, but I wouldn’t get within reach of them until we know for certain.”

Nodding absently, Elissa turned to Oghren and Alistair. Either of them should be able to take even the worst hits the broodmother could deal, but neither were nimble enough to dodge any strikes and land any attacks of their own.

“Wynne, do whatever you must to keep her immobilized and the rest of us alive. And keep yourself safe; I doubt there will be time for medicines while we fight, so if you fall we all will. Oghren, stay close enough to Wynne to keep her safe. This thing creates darkspawn, so the last thing we need is to be ambushed by any of her so-called children in the middle of the fight.”

The dwarf nodded, but Alistair sighed wearily. “You think you’re going to take her on yourself, don’t you, love?”

“Would you rather I draw her attention away while _you_ try to find someplace that’s thin enough to stick a blade and actually hit anything vital?”

“Well if Wynne’s spell works-” he began, but she cut him off immediately.

“We don’t know if it will work, and so we have to assume that it won’t while hoping that it does. That means you protect me while I dart in and cause as much damage as I can.”

“Should have locked you in your room in Redcliffe,” he muttered to himself.

 

* * *

 

The fight was relatively simple, but it seemed to last an eternity nonetheless. Elissa hadn’t counted on the bile that the broodmother frequently spewed and how it ate slowly through their armor, or on the constant waves of not only genlocks but shrieks as well that Alistair ended up having to help Oghren fight to keep them away from Wynne.

It was a stroke of luck that Elissa managed to finally notice the ledge above and behind the broodmother, and it was by the grace of Andraste herself that the she was able to scramble up the side of the rock quickly enough to avoid being struck to leap down again onto the monster’s shoulders. From there it was nothing to hilt one blade in the broodmother’s skull and to slash at enough arteries in her throat so that the beast finally bled out onto the rock below.

Alistair climbed part way up the massive folds of skin to help her down again, and not a moment after Elissa’s feet touched stone were their efforts rewarded with a slow, sarcastic applause. Turning, she saw a haughty dwarven woman watching them closely, sneering down on them from a ledge high above in the cavern.

“Let me be blunt with you,” the paragon called down to them. “After all this time, my tolerance for social graces is fairly limited. That doesn’t bother you, I hope.”

Elissa stared in shock at the woman before her. She’d expected to find Branka as tainted as Hespith had been, but instead stood a woman as healthy and whole as herself—and unlike Hespith, Branka was fully armed and armored.

“Shave my back and call me an elf,” Oghren grumbled. “By the Stone, Branka, I barely recognized you.”

“Oghren.” Branka nearly spat the word. “It figures you’d eventually find your way here. Hopefully, you can find your way back more easily.”

Her eyes narrowed as she studied the others. “And how shall I address you? Hired sword of the latest lordling to come looking for me? Or perhaps just the only one who didn’t mind Oghren’s ale-breath?”

“Be respectful, woman! You’re talking to two Grey Wardens!”

“Ah, so _important_ errand boys, then. I suppose something serious has happened. Is Endrin dead? That seems most likely; he was on the old and wheezy side.”

“To the bloody Void with Orzammar’s throne! You have no decency left in you, do you?” Elissa flared suddenly as the dam broke within her. Alistair set an arm on her shoulder to try and calm her, but she shrugged him off and turned on him.

“That monster came down here with her entire House, but for Oghren!” she cried, gesturing back toward Branka. “How many of them have you seen in these damned caves? _Two_ , assuming you can count what remained of both Hespith and Laryn as people. For all we know, she fed them to the horde herself! No army is worth this, Alistair. We’re going back; Bhelen can deal with Harrowmont on his own.”

“Ah, I see,” she heard, and when Elissa turned back to the paragon there was a cold smile on the other woman’s face. “Without a king, Orzammar cannot honor its treaty with the Wardens, and you think I will force the Assembly to name one for you. But a king won’t defeat a Blight, Warden. We’ve had forty generations of kings and lost _everything_. And personally? I don’t care if the Assembly puts a drunken monkey on the throne. The Anvil is all that matters, and with it I will restore the golem army that was once the envy of the entire world and crush the darkspawn myself.”

“ _You’re_ mad, and _we’re_ leaving.”

Branka shook her head, clucking her tongue in mock pity. “You think it’s so simple, don’t you, girl? We aren’t done here. Caridin wasn’t a fool, and the traps between here and the Anvil can’t be disarmed by one woman alone. A party of four, on the other hand, could handle them quite nicely. And since you’ve destroyed my source of fodder to test the traps against, I’m afraid none of you will be leaving until you help me reach the Anvil itself.”

Elissa scoffed. “You can’t keep us here.”

“Oh, dear girl, but not only can I, but you’re already trapped.” She smiled coldly as she gestured the way they had come. Before Elissa could even turn, she heard the rumbling of the stone, and felt the ground shake as the tunnel collapsed behind them. “It’s said that there is another way out, of course, but that would be on the other side of the Anvil. Don’t take too long to work your way back to it; I’d hate for there to be any more inconvenient cave-ins.”

 


	30. A Paragon of Her Kind

_Nothing so great may be achieved without sacrifice._

_Nor may stone and steel walk without a spirit to animate them._

-from the journal of the Paragon Caridin

 

Twelve hours had passed since they left the outpost of the Legion of the Dead. First came the seven hours of Bownammar itself, during which Elissa’s blades had scarcely left her hands, her arms constantly in motion as she struck out against the darkspawn that swarmed them. After that came Hespith and the broodmother Laryn, and finally came the traps guarding the path to Caridin’s Anvil. A year ago, she’d have collapsed before reaching the halfway point.

But she was not the Elissa of a year ago, and though her whole body ached, she continued to lead the others deeper through the cavern.

It had been clear from the start that Branka had gone mad in her quest; now though, in the midst of the blood and gore and rotting corpses both darkspawn and dwarven alike that littered the caves, the full extent of her insanity showed stronger than ever. They fought, and she called down to them from above, sometimes gloating over her own brilliance, other times seething with scorn at what she saw as betrayal at the hands of her so-called cowardly vassals.

The first trap had been simple enough, though by the looks of it none of Branka’s soldiers had made it through: mile upon mile of a single, winding tunnel filled with every sort of darkspawn, with nowhere to hide and recover between one fight and the next. In the brief seconds between each wave Elissa would scan the cave walls as quickly as she could, seeking the source of the attacks, but in spite of the fact that their numbers never dwindled for long, she couldn’t find where they came from—or more importantly, a way that she and the others might escape.

“Hey, Crazy!”

Elissa spun about, searching for Oghren, and found him trying to guard a crumpled, robed body from a pair of alphas—Wynne’s body, surrounded by a dozen or more dead beasts. Swearing, she fought her way over, sinking her knife into one of the hurlock’s eye before cleaving the other’s head from its shoulders altogether. Dropping her sword she turned the mage over, terrified of what she’d find, but aside from some bruising the older woman’s face was unblemished, and there was no blood but for that of the darkspawn. Her pulse was weak, but present.

“What happened to her?”

“The hell you asking me for?” he demanded, finishing off the last genlocks as Alistair fought off the final alpha. “We were fighting, then she started to go all glowy, then she collapsed. Figur’d it was some mage thing.”

The mage suddenly took in a deep, ragged breath, and gradually she came to. Elissa could hear Branka muttering somewhere in the dark at the delay, but the Warden ignored her as she helped Wynne to sit up. Once she was certain the mage was stable, she and Alistair searched the area to confirm the darkspawn were all gone before returning to where Oghren watched over the older woman.

“For all your lectures about theatrics, you certainly don’t practice what you preach, do you?” Elissa quipped, sitting next to the mage and offering her vials of both medicine and lyrium.

Wynne sighed wearily, but still a small smile played on her lips. “It must be the corrupting influence of all this youth around me,” she replied weakly after accepting the potions. “Just let me rest a while, and we can continue in a bit.”

“Tsk tsk, Warden,” came the voice from above. “No time to delay. The Anvil is waiting for us further within.”

“Oghren, shut that bitch of yours up!” Elissa snapped. It’d been a long time since she could last remember being this hungry and tired—it was probably the worst she’d been fatigued since the temple in Haven—but she knew that her body wouldn’t let her rest again until they were finished here and back on the surface. Wynne clearly needed the time to recover, though, and for once no more darkspawn were on them.

In all, they camped for barely more than an hour before Wynne insisted she was well enough to continue, and after just a few short tunnels they entered a room lined with massive statues of stone and steel. Branka held back, waiting for the others to enter; just moments after they did, the room began to fill with putrid green smoke.

Coughing uncontrollably and with her eyes burning, Elissa snatched greedily at the rags Wynne quickly passed to each of them, covering her mouth and nose. She could barely see through the haze to try and find the valves that filled the room to disable them, so instead she made immediately for the far door, the others close on her heels. They’d barely passed the first of the great statues when one of them began to stretch and creak, lumbering toward them with cold light in its empty sockets.

Elissa shot Alistair a quick glance, and he nodded her toward the far door again, his shield lifted to protect her as she worked on the lock as quickly as she could. The horrible smog that filled the room was leaving her incredibly lightheaded, and she broke three of her picks in the lock before finally managing it open. Alistair and Oghren managed to down two of the golems that advanced on them before slipping through the door themselves. As soon as it was shut behind them, Wynne sealed the door further, transmuting the door, frame, and lock into a solid chunk of stone.

“Erm,” Alistair began uncertainly, “Wynne, you know we have to get back out eventually, right?”

Sighing, she gave him a withering look that left no room for argument. “Assuming there’s not a way out on the other side, we’ll deal with that problem when we come to it.”

The third trap once again faced them against a small company of golems, but without the choking gases this obstacle was quickly cleared. The final was vastly more complicated; an enormous chamber containing an apparatus of four faces and four anvils. Power shot from each of the faces, and when it touched each anvil the spectres of long dead dwarves rose to fight them. Each time a spectre was defeated, its associated anvil reabsorbed its energy, only to respawn the ghosts again when the stone faces released their energy on them once more.

Over and over the cycle repeated itself, wearing down even the Wardens’ stamina gradually. Only when one of Oghren’s swings went wide and cracked one of the anvils in two, destroying its spirit and the associated face on the apparatus, did the trick to clearing this room become clear. The other three anvils were destroyed shortly afterward, and Elissa collapsed in exhaustion.

“Where’s Branka?”

It wasn’t until Alistair asked that she realized the paragon had long since left them alone in the chamber with its broken apparatus for the hall beyond. Groaning, she let him help her back to her feet.

“She must have gone in while we were fighting,” Oghren offered. “And if she went without us, then she must be pretty sodding confident this was the last trap protecting the Anvil.”

Elissa frowned as she studied the dwarf. “You said on the way down here that Caridin used this Anvil thing to create the golems, right?”

“Aye, and they were the pride of the empire, until suddenly he refused to make any more of them and vanished. There were some dark rumors about the exact processes involved in creating the golems.”

“Oghren, you know that after all she’s done to reach it, a few dark rumors aren’t going to stop her from finding a way to use the damned thing. If letting her create new golems is going to mean even more sacrifice, I can’t let her have the Anvil, not even if they can be used against the darkspawn.”

She could feel the looks of concern and shock from both Wynne and Alistair as her meaning sank in, but the dwarf only sighed sadly.

“Just… let me try to reason with her one more time first. If there’s any chance of my brilliant girl still being somewhere in that crazy bitch, I have to try and reach her.”

“One chance,” she agreed. “But the moment she becomes a threat-”

Shaking his head, Oghren led the way into the chamber beyond. It wasn’t a hall so much as a vast cavern within the heart of the mountain, and even at this great distance Elissa could see the glow of lava below the cliffs at the other end of the massive cave. Lining the walls were dozens of golems; unlike the ones in the previous chambers, all but one of these remained dormant as they passed.

The exception stood at the furthest end of the cavern. Nearly the size of an ogre and forged of fine silverite rather than the stone or steel of the others, it towered over the paragon as she argued with it. The idea struck Elissa as completely absurd, until the bits clicked into place.

_…until suddenly he refused to make any more of them and vanished…_

Branka wasn’t the only living paragon of Orzammar after all; Caridin had become a hermit, hiding from his own people and apparently from his own actions. He waited here, protecting the Anvil to keep anyone from doing whatever he’d done with it himself; Elissa imagined that if someone unable to use the Anvil had managed his or her way passed the traps to this point, the paragon would have remained as dormant as any of the other golems here. The fact that he was active, and actively arguing with Branka, spoke volumes. Whether she already knew whatever his secret was or not, he viewed her as a threat.

**Your pawns approach, paragon. Do they know your intent here?**

The voice echoed through Caridin’s helmet and throughout the cavern. As it did, the sleeping golems around them began to creak to life, moving slowly to surround the party.

“You’ve got about three seconds if you’re going to try to reason with Branka,” Elissa hissed. “Otherwise, I think the decision’s going to be made for us.”

**So they do not know… Why then have you lead Paragon Branka here, if not to aid her in taking my Anvil?**

“We did not know her mission when we first sought her out, my lord,” she called back, fighting to keep her voice steady. “The archdemon Urthemiel has awoken, and his forces will cover the surface unless the Wardens have the support of Orzammar’s army against the darkspawn. But Orzammar has no king, and so we Wardens do not have our army. We were sent here by the Aeducan heir, in hopes that the paragon’s endorsement could break the stalemate in the Assembly.”

Caridin seemed to consider this. **I care not for the petty squabbles of the deep lords. But should you grant me but a single boon, I will involve myself once more, that the ancient agreements might be honored.**

Glancing briefly at the others, Elissa nodded. “What would you have me do?”

**I cannot touch the true Anvil now that I have taken this form. As such, I cannot destroy it either, to ensure that no others like this one come seeking its power. If you will destroy the true Anvil, I will forge you a crown on one of the lesser ones that will bear my seal. With it, the deep lords should accept any candidate you should decide to name, and as such you will be granted your army.**

“ _No!_ I will not allow it!” Branka’s weapons were drawn before any of them could react, and she placed herself between the Anvil and all the others in the cavern. But quicker than the others could ready themselves for the fight, and quicker than Oghren could try to talk her down, the other golems of the Anvil began to move on her; no longer slowly lumbering giants of stone and steel, these creatures attacked the lesser paragon instantly at some unheard command.

The party stared in horror as Branka tried to fight them off, only to have her weapons ripped from her hands and her limbs torn from her body. Unable to watch any longer, Elissa ran a distance away and began to retch in a corner. Of all of it, the worst thing was that Branka didn’t once scream, not while being torn limb from limb and not while her bones were smashed to jelly by Caridin’s sentinels.

Once it was done, she could hear the remaining paragon give Alistair instructions on how to destroy the Anvil of the Void; a few moments later she heard the cracking as the hammer struck it one last time, followed by the beating of a different hammer as the crown she’d bargained for was shaped.

_No army is worth any of this._


	31. Soul Bound

Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.  
From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.  
Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.  
In my arms lies Eternity.  
 _-Andraste 14:11_

 

After the events at the Anvil, the return to Orzammar was a somber trip. Elissa led the party around as many of the groups of darkspawn as possible, but it became more and more difficult to do so as her increased sensitivity to the Deep Roads began to wane. More than once they were caught by surprise in the dark tunnels, and she found that she was keeping closer and closer to the light of Wynne’s staff than she had before.

They paused to camp as often as was safe, and each time Elissa was grateful for the chance to rid herself of the pack that contained Caridin’s crown, even if just for a few hours. The actual weight of the thing didn’t bother her terribly, but it was a heavy burden nonetheless.

Collapsing in an exhausted heap beside her packs she stretched long, reaching for her toes. She could hear Oghren making crude jokes about how limber she appeared to be, and suddenly remembered Daveth and Jory in the Wilds the afternoon before their Joining. It had only been a few months, but it felt like an Age. Glancing up, she saw Alistair coming to join her, and she scooted over to make room for him in the little nook she’d set up her bedroll in.

“I can carry that, you know,” he pointed out discretely, indicating the pack containing the dwarven crown.

Elissa smiled, grateful that he knew her enough to not imply any weakness on her part in front of the others, but shook her head. “I decided we would side with Bhelen, and I bargained for this,” she replied quietly. “It’s my burden, and I can just hope that the end justifies the means.”

“You didn’t kill her, Lissa,” he stressed. “The woman that was Paragon Branka died when she began to feed the members of her family, and anyone else in her entourage, to the darkspawn. And as for what remained… well, golems only take orders from their masters, right?”

Frowning, she thought about this. “I don’t know… I know stories say your father had a mage in his party during the rebellion, and the mage had a golem, but aside from a few rumors from then I don’t know anything about them.”

“Actually, Wilhelm was part of Queen Moira’s court; Maric just sort of inherited him. I met him once when I was very young, in Redcliffe,” Alistair laughed quietly. “Eamon tried to keep me away, probably just in case Wilhelm recognized me, but curiosity got the best of me. That old man threatened to feed me to his golem if I didn’t stop bothering him, and that no one would be able to stop it, because golems only obey their masters.”

“That’s horrible!”

“He was a horrible, ornery old man,” Alistair shrugged. “The thing is, I looked it up years later, after I was sent to the monastery. He was right—there’s some sort of control rod for each golem, and whichever person holds it is that golem’s master. Judging by the way things went at the Anvil, Caridin was master of all those other golems, and at some point he must have ordered them to stop anyone who tried to use the Anvil at any cost. So what happened _wasn’t_ your doing; place the blame on either Caridin for giving the order or Branka for trying to take the Anvil from him.”

“I suppose,” Elissa replied, though she still felt her own guilt for what happened.

Bundling up one of their cloaks into a makeshift pillow, he set it behind her and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “I’ll take first watch; you get a nap at the least. You’ve barely slept since we left Orzammar and we’ve been down here what, a week? Ortan Thaig should just be a few leagues away, so we should be able to make it back to the city by the end of tomorrow or early the next day. Then we’ll get rid of this crown and get back to Redcliffe, and you can rest for a bit before the Landsmeet.”

“And what if I can’t sleep?” she asked with an evil smile.

Coughing, Alistair blushed. “Well, we aren’t exactly alone…”

“Teasing, love,” she laughed, kissing him again before settling back into her makeshift pillow and trying to get comfortable.

“Besides, there will be plenty of time once we have a proper bed beneath us again,” she grinned as she shut her eyes and dozed off.

 

* * *

 

_She was in a cavern, but not the cavern where she had set up camp with Alistair and the others. That cavern had been compact, shielded from any chance of ambush or other attack. The space she now found herself in was immense, dwarfing any chamber she’d ever laid eyes on. Lava boiled in pits scattered haphazardly about, the walls were so distant as to not even exist, and the ceiling was lost to the darkness above, supported only by columns formed as stalactite and stalagmite met over the ages._

_Only when she cast her gaze down from her slight vantage point did she see them—tens of thousands of genlocks, hurlocks, ogres, and shrieks—and she realized she was looking upon the full bulk of the horde._

_“In griseo bellatores venari nos, ductus a simulator ad humana thronum,” she heard herself roar, and she noticed with slight horror that it wasn’t her own voice, but that of the Archdemon._

_“Te non eosde nostris tenebris domum, et illa lupus fere mea subversio. Canis est inclusas, sed per eius custodes, non per aliquam tui,” it continued. “Illa erit finita. Ne lupi qui ad me, quia timor eris in laminas fratrum arma tuae dentes et ungues etcarnem. Quisquis vestrum stetit victor erimus praecedebant, et deducet me victorexercitus in humano terras.”_

_“Me deficiet, et extremum mei.”_

* * *

 

Shaking, Elissa shot violently awake, her sword and dagger drawn before she was even completely conscious. Alistair was instantly there, easing the blades from her hands and forcing her to hold still until her mind cleared enough to understand that she was no longer asleep. After an eternity, light dawned in her eyes again, and she clung to Alistair desperately.

“He knows.” The words were barely a whisper over sobs that she couldn’t control. Alistair smoothed her hair, shushing her, and she could tell he was waving Wynne and Oghren away.

“Whatever it was, love, it was just a dream,” he assured her, sitting her down again and getting her some water.

“ _No_ ,” she insisted, pushing him away enough to look him in the eye. “Urthemiel knows about us, that we’re the only two Wardens against him. He knows that you’re going to be king, and that I tried to kill him at Bownammar. He’s… he’s furious that we were able to evade the horde, that I had even the slight chance that I did that day, and he’s setting them against one another.”

She was interrupted by a belch from Oghren. “’Scuse me for not understandin’, but isn’t your enemy fighting itself something you _want_ to happen?”

“I- Well, normally, yes. But whichever member of the horde emerges victorious will become his new general.” Her gaze flitted back to Alistair, her expression grim, “And once that happens, he’s going to be personally leading his army to the surface.”

Everyone sat silently for a long while, until Wynne finally stood and began to break camp. “In that case, the Landsmeet will have to be moved forward,” the mage stated simply, almost business-like in her tone and actions. “We cannot have an Archdemon on the surface before all the armies are prepared, and that means putting the _both_ of you in the palace as quickly as possible.”

“No, there is a little time,” Elissa argued, shaking her head, “but not much. By the look of the horde that I saw, it will take weeks for a single individual to take command of the others, and then more time to organize the darkspawn to march. We have a month at least, perhaps as much as two.”

They began their way on to Ortan Thaig and ultimately Orzammar beyond, quietly discussing their plans when they could. Elissa now had to rely entirely on the map she had been given and on the chinks in the walls from Branka’s sampling to find her way, but as the tunnels became more and more familiar their pace picked up, breezing through the crossing and Aeducan Thaig, and finally to Orzammar where Bhelen would be named king.

Elissa still believed that too much had been sacrificed to reach this point. Worse, there would be much more sacrifice before it was done, including either her life or Alistair’s. Daveth had been right though, so long ago; the Wardens did what they must, to survive and to defeat the Blights.

 _Who knows?_ she thought idly. _Perhaps there are even griffons at the Maker’s side._

 

* * *

 

Elissa delivered the crown, and Paragon Caridin’s implied endorsement of Prince Bhelen, to the Assembly with little discussion and immediately returned to Lord Helmi’s estate to collect what remained of their belongings. She’d heard already the rumors that Bhelen’s first act as king was to order the execution of Lord Harrowmont, but the messenger that came to her at Helmi’s home shortly afterward continued to pledge _King_ Bhelen’s support to the Grey Wardens in the face of the Blight, and that was all she would let herself focus on now.

“Ya don’t really think the dragon’s comin’ after you personally, do ya? Cause I know I keep callin’ you crazy and all, but this is mad even for you.”

“Why are you even still here, Oghren?” she sighed, ignoring the question. “I thought this was just about finding Branka for you.”

The dwarf made a noise that Elissa thought sounded suspiciously like “nug shit” covered with a false sneeze. “I’m sorry, Crazy, d’you see Branka ‘round here anywhere? Only thing I got left is to fight, and if I fight here in Orzammar they’re gonna either force me up to the surface or down into Dust Town. So ‘scuse me for takin’ matters into my own hands before they get the chance.”

Elissa sighed again. “Whatever,” she conceded. “Just don’t go panicking about falling into the sky or anything, alright? That doesn’t actually happen.”

“We’ll see,” he grumbled in reply, rising from the armchair he’d helped himself to when he originally followed the Wardens back to Helmi’s estate and beginning to make his way to the door. “By the way, while you two were in with the Assembly, Grandma said she was gonna be sending somethin’ or another to Redcliffe. Not sure how she thinks she’ll be able to get anything there ahead of us, but I’m sure it’s some sort of magey finger-waving.”

Alistair snickered suddenly, and Elissa gave him a curious look. “Can you imagine Wynne knitting little socks like some proper grandmother?” he laughed, and she couldn’t help but chuckle in response.

“She and I actually had that chat a _long_ time ago, the first time she left Redcliffe with us. Let’s just say Wynne isn’t the knitting type.”

Still smiling slightly, she turned back to Oghren. “Do you mind finding out how long she’ll be? I think we can afford to stay one more night if we must, but we really need to be on the road by tomorrow at the latest.”

“Yeah, I can handle that. Though if you don’t mind, I’d like to get shitfaced at Tapster’s one last time before we go topside, so can we just keep the leaving for tomorrow anyhow?”

She glanced at Alistair for his opinion, and he shrugged. “Might as well have a bed for one more night, so long as Helmi doesn’t mind us staying. The weather should be good once we’re out of the mountains, but until then the spring melts are going to make sleeping outside miserable.”

“That’s that, then,” she told Oghren. “But when you check in with Wynne, please ask her to let us know if she gets any news back from Morrigan or Leliana before we leave tomorrow.” Grunting in agreement, the dwarf let himself out of the Wardens’ room.

Alistair followed to make sure the door was securely locked and then rushed back to Elissa with a wicked grin. Before she could wonder at his behavior his mouth was on hers, and she melted into the kiss as her arms wrapped around his neck. Before her knees could go out entirely, she hitched one thigh up to his waist, and he lifted her slightly so she could wrap her legs around him. He stumbled slightly, overcorrecting as he tried to keep them both balanced, and they fell heavily into the bed behind her.

“Where in the Black City did _that_ come from?” she gasped finally when he released her, but he only grinned as he disentangled himself from her and stoked the fire in the hearth as high as he could.

“I realized after mentioning the spring melts that we missed the Summerday bonfires, stuck underground as we’ve been,” he began, returning to where he left her on the bed. “Assuming all goes as planned, we’re going to be absolutely _crushed_ with royal responsibilities by next Summerday, and it’d be an awful shame to let such an _intimate_ festival pass us by.”

“And what would a templar recruit know of such things?” she asked with a suspicious smile. Instead of answering, he began to slowly undress her, pausing periodically to shower each newly revealed bit of skin with kisses. When he reached her trousers, he unlaced them and pulled both her pants and her smalls down together and she squealed in shock as he _continued_ his stream of kisses further and further down.

After what seemed an eternity spent making her writhe, and yet not nearly long enough at all, Alistair finally began to kiss his way back up her stomach and chest, nibbling here and there until she finally pulled him back to her so she could kiss him herself.

“Not only did you never answer me, now I’ve got a whole slew of extra questions for you,” she purred in his ear as she tugged at his own clothing. How had she let him get this far without undressing in the slightest? After letting her remove his shirt he left her again and she sat up to watch him, assuming he was going to check on the hearth; instead, he returned just a moment later with one of her packs, pulling out one book in particular—a Nevarran romance she’d nicked from Isolde’s library months ago.

“You know, I always knew the Nevarrans loved their art, I just didn’t know until finding this little beauty of yours just how far they took the term,” he grinned.

Shivering slightly, she tossed the book away and scrambled under the blankets. “I think I told you once that it wasn’t fair to make me sit in the cold while you still have your pants,” she replied with a very deliberate glance to his belt. “Get those off and get over here.”

“As you wish.”

 

* * *

 

They said their farewells to Lord Helmi and his household early the next morning, but had to stop at the camp just outside the main gates while Oghren came to terms with the open sky above. Elissa spent the time browsing the wares of the various merchants of the tent city, wandering idly from one stall to the next. She was just about to continue on when a small pendant caught her eye—more specifically, the symbol carved into the steel.

“Where did you get this?”

She must have sounded harsher than she’d intended, because the merchant shrank back from her nervously. “N-no need to get excited, miss,” he stammered. “Bought it off a chap near Lake Calenhad. Had a whole mess of other stuff like it, but I sold it off two weeks ago.”

“Who’d you sell it to?”

“A- a dwarf from Redcliffe. I didn’t ask him his name or no other questions; he just said he was going to add it to his collection.”

By now Alistair noticed her and was heading her way, but she ignored him for the moment. “Were there any swords with the other items? Probably a big, two-handed one with this same symbol on it someplace?”

The merchant nodded nervously. “Real fine one, it was, much nicer than the other junk.”

“Lissa, what-” Alistair began to ask, concerned, but stopped when he saw her suddenly smile.

“Don’t worry, love, nothing’s wrong,” she assured him. “Dwyn’s the only dwarf in Redcliffe, isn’t he?”

“I think so,” he began, and she beamed at him. “What’s this all about?”

“That emblem’s the mark of the House of Tides, one of the major symbols of the Qunari. It’s embossed into that book Sten always has with him,” she explained, indicating the pendant that’d caught her eye. “I told Sten months ago that I’d help him find his lost sword if I could, and a sword with that symbol was sold to a dwarf from Redcliffe just two weeks ago.”

“You think it’s the same?”

“I think it’s worth checking out, especially since we’re going back to Redcliffe anyway before leaving for Denerim. Sten did say he’d heard rumors about Qunari items in Orzammar, and we’ve found this much so far—plus confirmation that there was a high-quality blade.”

She excused herself from the now bewildered merchant as she and Alistair returned to where Wynne waited with Oghren. “I don’t mean to worry you, dear,” the mage began delicately, “but Morrigan tells me that both Zevran and Leliana returned to Redcliffe about a week ago.”

Elissa frowned. “Why should that worry me?”

“It seems they had to leave again immediately afterward, chasing after your brother. He apparently decided that he should return to the Chasind tribe that cared for him following Ostagar to see if any of Highever’s other men were found alive.”

Swearing, Elissa turned and walked away a few paces. “Why in the Void did Gilmore let him go? And why didn’t Morrigan stop him herself?”

“That I don’t know, dear.”

Fergus running off like this really didn’t surprise her; he’d see it as his duty that any of his men who survived be rescued. But to run off alone… At least she could trust that between them, the bard and the assassin would be able to bring him back to Redcliffe again.

“Let’s just get going,” she said finally, retrieving her packs and starting toward the edge of the tent city toward Gherlen’s Pass. So long as Teagan had a boat waiting for them in Rainesfere it wouldn’t take much more than a week to reach Redcliffe, and she wanted to be there when her friends returned with her brother in tow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following is what I originally plugged into Google translate to get the “Tevinter” text above:
> 
> “The grey warriors hunt us, led by a pretender to the human throne. You failed to keep them out of our dark home, and their she wolf was nearly my undoing. The bitch was caged, but by her keepers, not by any actions of your own. 
> 
> She will be ended.
> 
> You who let the wolf reach me, know fear, for you will feel the blades of your brothers in your armor, and their teeth and claws upon your flesh. Whichever among you stands victorious shall become my vanguard, and shall lead my army to victory against the human lands.
> 
> Fail me again, and I shall end you myself.”


	32. Hope and Despair

All things in this world are finite.  
What one man gains, another has lost.  
Those who steal from their brothers and sisters  
Do harm to their livelihood and to their peace of mind.  
Our Maker sees this with a heavy heart.  
 _-Transfigurations 1:5_

 

In spite of her continued anger at Fergus’s disappearance—or perhaps because of it—Elissa made her way directly to Dwyn’s house when they arrived in Redcliffe a week later. The dwarf was one of the few survivors of the battles against the undead that plagued the village when the Wardens first arrived, having participated only in the last fight after she threatened to have Sten tear him in two on his own doorstep. So now, when Elissa received no answer and found the door to his house once again locked upon her arrival, in spite of smoke rising lazily from the chimney, she didn’t hesitate to kick it open.

“I see your manners haven’t improved since I last saw you,” the dwarf drawled from near the fire as she entered. “Typically when a door’s locked, it means you’re supposed to remain on the other side of it.”

“Where’s the qunari sword, Dwyn?”

A hand settled lightly on her shoulder from behind. “Elissa, dear, you’re tired,” Wynne began, trying to calm her, but she brushed the older woman away.

“Which is exactly why I want to get this over with,” she snapped before turning to the dwarf again. “Where. Is. The. Sword?”

“If you know I’ve got it, then you know it’s part of my collection now,” he replied smugly. “And I don’t just let items go once they’re a part of my collection. Then again… What if I were to let you buy it? It’s a fine specimen; surely six sovereigns is a fair price.”

“How about two sovereigns for the damaged lock, and I don’t tell my pet qunari up at the keep that you’ve had his sword this whole time?” she countered darkly. “I’m sure if I tell him you were on your way to bring it to him, he won’t rip your arms off the next time he sees you.”

Dwyn hesitated, trying to determine if her threat was genuine. After subconsciously patting at each shoulder, he shook his head in disgust. “You’re lucky I like my arms, seeing as they’re where my hands live,” he grumbled as he left for a back room.

“Two sovereigns it is, with the promise that you don’t pick my lock, break my door, or send any sodding giants after me,” he continued when he returned, a massive sword bundled and held gingerly under one arm. The dwarf passed it to Alistair, who pulled back the cloth wrapped tightly around it briefly; the mark of the House of Tides stamped clearly into both the blade’s forte and pommel.

Elissa paid the dwarf as promised and they began the climb to the castle. The sword was longer than Alistair was tall, so its mass had to be balanced between them as they made their way up the hill. Morrigan greeted them in the castle’s main courtyard, and seeing their burden directed the two Wardens to the library where Sten retired after training with Eamon’s knights each morning.

“Did you have a moment?” she asked quietly, knocking as she entered. The giant nodded, but she gestured for Alistair to wait just outside. “I told you once that I’d do what I could to help you regain your soul, so that when we were done here, you could return to your people.”

Sten set his book to the side, studying her. “I remember.”

Elissa faltered for a moment. What if she’d brought back the wrong sword? “I- I stumbled across a lead while we were leaving Orzammar. I don’t know if I found your _asala_ , or that of another warrior, but I thought it best to bring it to you in either case.” She returned to the door and waved Alistair in, taking the bundle from him and presenting it to Sten.

The giant delicately unwrapped the weapon, staring in silent awe at it once the entire blade was revealed. “ _Asala ebost_ ,” he whispered softly as he traced the edge of the blade. “Thank you, kadan. You have done what I thought to be impossible.”

“It’s the right sword, then?”

“Indeed. When I someday return to my people, I will see to it that they know you are _basalit-an_. You and your land will be honored by the Qunari for as long as you live, kadan.”

 

* * *

 

It was well after midnight on the second night when Leliana and Zevran finally returned from the Wilds with Fergus and Gilmore in tow; the moment Elissa received word she was rampaging barefoot through the castle to the main hall with barely a robe covering her nightgown. Alistair had managed to keep her from carrying her sword when  she stormed from their rooms, but only barely.

The few guards she passed dodged out of her way without a word, with the exception of the knight posted outside the main hall itself. “Your brother is in the main dining room, my lady,” he informed her with a slight bow.

“Thank you,” she told him simply as she changed direction midstride. Three more guards ducked into side passages as she passed, but she ignored them as she continued on, finally reaching the dining hall and throwing the doors open as she entered. Fergus saw her immediately and lowered his head, busying himself with his meal. Fuming, she stormed over to him, slapping the fork out of his hand.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing, going back to the Wilds like that?” she demanded.

Sighing, he sat back in his chair. “You know as well as I do that we’re going to need men loyal to Highever to take back the city after the Blight’s done with. I survived and made it out of the Wilds; it only stands to reason that others did as well.”

“You could have been killed, you damn fool! You’re no good to Highever if you’re dead. What if I don’t survive the fight against the Archdemon? Who will see to our people’s safety if we’re both gone?”

Exhausted, she collapsed into the chair next to his. “Maker’s breath, Fergus, Urthemiel himself is under the Wilds _right now_ , preparing to march to the surface. Sneaking home to retrieve mother’s ring would have been less stupid.”

“Oh, really?” he asked with a smirk and one raised eyebrow. “And why would I need to do a thing like that?”

Elissa froze as she met her older brother’s gaze; she and Alistair hadn’t told anyone but Wynne about their engagement, and the mage only knew because she had gone to Orzammar with them—not even Eamon and Teagan knew yet to her knowledge. She recovered quickly though, returning his grin. “You tell me, brother. Alistair said you were the one to bring it up in the first place.”

“Lies,” he laughed. “Well, partly lies. I did bring up mother’s ring, and I _thought_ we’d agreed that he’d wait until I could find it before proposing, but he was the one who came to me, not the other way around. I _tried_ to warn him about your habit of secretly meeting with pirates to arrange safe passage out of the country the moment the m-word was mentioned, but he just wouldn’t listen.”

“Alistair’s more stubborn than he looks; he’d probably just chase me down if I tried something like that again.”

Fergus smiled sadly. “The two of you are good for each other, Lis. You know that, don’t you? Not to mention, you’re going to make a fantastic queen.”

“Someday, perhaps,” she replied. “Alistair and I both have to survive the Archdemon first, though. I had a chance to kill him in the Deep Roads, you know.”

“Alistair?”

She couldn’t help but to laugh at her brother’s momentary confusion. “No, you fool, Urthemiel. Wynne and Alistair both thought I’d gone mad and stopped me before I reached him, but then later I heard him talking to the horde. He’s actually afraid, Fergus. Furious, but still afraid.”

“You will technically have three nations united under your banner once the Landsmeet is over, sister,” he pointed out. “No matter what the war, very few leaders can claim such a thing. Your army is going to be a force to be reckoned with, even against the darkspawn horde.”

“I suppose that’s true,” she lied. That wasn’t it at all, but how was she supposed to explain to her brother how she saw through the Archdemon’s own eyes in her nightmares, how she felt its emotions and thought as it did?

Fergus gave her hand a small squeeze. “Go back to bed, Lis. We’ll all be busy getting ready to leave for Denerim soon, and you need your rest. Besides, you still have someone waiting for you.”

“Can I trust you not to run off again in the name of duty while I sleep?” she asked, stifling a yawn.

“Considering the bride’s family is typically expected to pay for the wedding, and you’ve gone and betrothed yourself to the heir to the throne? You’re lucky I haven’t made it to Tevinter already.”

 

* * *

 

Eamon sent for them early the next morning, and when she and Alistair arrived in his study they found Teagan and Fergus already waiting. “I hear that congratulations are in order,” he nodded as they entered. “Though I have to wonder if such a union’s timing won’t be considered overly convenient in the Landsmeet.”

“Oh, come off it, Eamon,” Fergus scowled. “There’s a time to be political, and there’s a time to let two people be happy.”

“I am not begrudging them their happiness, your Grace, but the impression such arrangements leave on the Bannorn _will_ need to be considered.”

Elissa rolled her eyes as Alistair offered her a chair. “Eamon, do you really think that we haven’t considered it already?” she snapped after listening to her brother and the arl argue for a while longer.

“Excuse me?”

“I said that Alistair and I have already considered the implications of our engagement and his bid for the throne. Yes, some of the banns are bound to see favoritism toward the Couslands, but we’ve gone through the list of all voting members of the Landsmeet—the only ones likely to fight us are those who would vote for Loghain anyhow.”

“More importantly,” Alistair continued for her, “weddings are a cause for celebration. I remember when Cailan married Anora; all of Denerim celebrated for months, and from what I understand even the most remote villages held festivals for a week at the least. Our wedding will show people that even after all the suffering they went through with the Blight, there’s still hope in the world.”

“That is true, brother,” Teagan commented idly. “Realistically speaking, it would be wiser for them to marry now, so that no opposition to Lady Elissa could be raised by the Landsmeet. So long as we can ensure that their mere betrothal doesn’t damage the number of votes Alistair receives, though, holding their wedding after will greatly increase the people’s morale.”

“How do the votes stand, by the way?” Elissa asked, standing and crossing the room to the map still covered in little markers of various colors. “I haven’t seen Leliana yet this morning to find out how successful she and Zevran were.”

“From what I understand, they were brilliant, actually,” Eamon admitted. “I’ve received letters from four of the previously undecided nobles pledging their support to the Theirin line, bringing us to eight confirmed votes versus only four that we know for a fact support Anora and Loghain—including the teyrn himself and Arl Howe.”

Elissa didn’t even have to see the map to know her next assumption would be correct. “Let me guess, Ceorlic and Esmerelle are their other two confirmed votes?”

“Yes, my lady; only Oswin, River Dane, and West Hill have failed to commit to either side.”

Frowning, she inspected the map more closely. “That doesn’t add up, who are we missing… What about Vaughn? Or is Howe still claiming his vote as well?”

“There have been conflicting reports,” Teagan replied tersely. “On the one hand, Howe is publicly claiming the title of Arl of Denerim.”

“And on the other?”

The light, accented voice came from behind her, startling Elissa. “On the other hand, I have Lord Vaughn tucked safely away where we can retrieve him when the time comes, in a place where Howe cannot reach him in the meantime. I can assure you he will not support Loghain.”

Beaming, Elissa went to hug her friend, but the Orlesian gave her a deep curtsy instead. When she saw the Warden’s confused look, the bard smiled innocently. “I’m sorry, my lady, but it would be improper to be so familiar with the king’s betrothed,” she teased.

“And you, Alistair, should get used to hearing the title your majesty sooner rather than later; you already have enough votes to win the Landsmeet, and when those few who remain undecided hear the evidence that Zevran and I uncovered? I would be surprised if even Loghain votes for himself.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s not possible. Not even Loghain could be this desperate.” Elissa stared in shock at the documents Leliana produced later that day. Loghain didn’t have the authority to negotiate trade agreements with any other nation as it was, in spite of his declaration that he was ruling in Anora’s place as regent. But to negotiate a slave trade with Tevinter? This wasn’t desperation, it was sheer stupidity.

Zevran clucked his tongue in disapproval. “I said that a living dragon was not possible, and yet we encountered one in the mountain temple,” the elf pointed out from where he lounged in one of the oversized chairs in her parlor. “And as for Loghain’s desperation, you have claimed every ally available to you—politically and militarily—while his own alliances are shattered at your every move. He has little choice but to seek help from those willing to offer it, no matter the price.”

“You’re awfully nonchalant about this, Zev,” she replied as she set the papers back on the table. “Didn’t you say once that you were bought off the slave market by the Crows?”

“That I was, but there are ways of rising above one’s initial station when with the Crows. You must remember that I was a child when I was purchased. I can assure you, my lady, I am not a child any longer,” he leered, and Elissa rolled her eyes.

“Leliana, I don’t suppose there was any way the two of you could have kept the slaver himself for testimony, in addition to these papers? If I present these to the Landsmeet, Loghain is just going to claim that they’re forgeries, and that the two of you are helping me to slander him.”

“Unfortunately not,” the bard apologized. “For all Zevran’s apparent coolness regarding the matter now, his reaction was much different when we were actually in the Alienage. Shianni may be willing to help us, but the other elves are still understandably nervous about humans at the moment.”

“So long as she does not know we are restoring Vaughn to his father’s position,” Zevran added hastily. “She… is less than fond of the young arl.”

“I don’t think anyone is _fond_ of Vaughn, Zev,” Elissa sighed, pinching her nose. “But he serves a purpose and we can’t risk losing his support. That weasel is the missing vote that keeps us one step ahead of a stalemate, just in case something happens and all three of the undeclared banns side with Loghain.”

“Arl Eamon said the same when we discussed this with him when we first arrived, before we had to run off after your brother,” Leliana confirmed. “Speaking of Fergus, I’ve seen neither him nor Alistair since this morning.”

Groaning, Elissa let her head drop to the table. “Don’t get me started on those two. If it were anything to do with the Landsmeet, or with retaking Highever—you know, the issues they _should_ be discussing—then I don’t think they’d keep me from joining them.”

“I’m sure it’s something to do with your wedding, is all. A bride price may be a bit impractical under the circumstances, but a dower is certainly understandable. The bride herself is typically not included in such negotiations.”

“They could also be plotting something stupid, and knowing the two of them it will be some grand, genius plan. Neither of them will be able to see beyond the grandness of their plot to recognize its idiocy, and by the end of it all I _will_ need a bloody dower to live off once the Blight’s over.”

There was a knock at her door; Elissa called absently for whomever it was to come in and she continued as Morrigan silently entered with Moira at her heel. “Or worse, whatever Alistair and my brother have locked themselves away over involves both the wedding _and_ some stupid plot. Between the two of you, can you please just keep them out of trouble? We don’t have time right now for either of them to go running off on adventures.”

Leliana nodded while Zevran grinned; clearly the elf already had a plan of his own to keep tabs on Alistair and Fergus. When the witch cleared her throat impatiently, the two rogues bade Elissa farewell and left her rooms.

“Is everything alright?” the Warden asked carefully once the door was securely shut, while Morrigan paced nervously near the unlit hearth. Twice she opened her mouth as if to speak, and twice she shut it again, swearing quietly instead. Finally the witch took Elissa’s hands and led her to the settee.

“Elissa, your senior Warden, the one who sent you into the Wilds the day we met… How much did he tell you about the death of an archdemon? And how much about it does Alistair know?”

“I…” Elissa faltered. “Duncan told me before we reached Ostagar that no Warden to kill an archdemon has ever survived, though the way he said it at the time, I don’t know if even he knew how or why.”

“And Alistair?”

Frowning, she thought back to all the times she could and should have brought up Duncan’s warning and chose not to. “I’m almost positive he doesn’t know,” she whispered finally.

“I thought as much,” Morrigan replied absently. “I don’t understand much of it myself, but there is a mention in mother’s grimoire of a blending of souls between the dragon and a Warden at the moment of an archdemon’s physical death. Something in that blending destroys both the beast and the warrior permanently.”

“Why are you telling me this, Morrigan? Duncan made it clear that whatever the reason, there’s no way around the result.” Elissa realized she was crying, and she wiped angrily at the tears that had fallen. “Unless the Orlesian Wardens miraculously arrive before the battle, it’s guaranteed that either Alistair or I will be killed. Knowing the how and why of it isn’t going to make that any less true.”

She couldn’t be certain, but it almost looked like Morrigan’s eyes held a glimmer of hope. “Because I do not believe it _is_ a guaranteed result. There is a ritual that Flemeth no doubt planned to use herself, after taking my body as her host, that would almost certainly prevent _any_ Grey Warden present from being killed by the blending.”

Elissa stared at the witch in shock. “What sort of ritual?”

“’Tis… old magic,” the witch replied vaguely. “And while I am certain I can perform the ritual on myself to ensure your survival and that of your beloved, I do not know yet if that magic can be transferred to another.”

“What must I do?”

Morrigan studied her carefully, considering the path before her. “For now, next to nothing,” she finally stated. “But you must stop drinking those teas Wynne has been giving you. The senior enchanter does not realize how rare it is for a Warden to conceive a child under the best of circumstances, and considering your future position, you do not need any more obstacles to that end than necessary.”

“And later?”

Elissa was shocked when a tear escaped and made its way down Morrigan’s cheek. “I may make a request of you at some point in the future, one that you will not wish to grant me. I’m begging you, Elissa; if it comes to it, do not deny me this in spite of your own emotions. I swear to you, one way or another I will not let you fall to that beast.”

 

* * *

 

They remained in Redcliffe only two more nights while Eamon sent out the last of his summons to various nobles whose presence would be required at the Landsmeet. Clearly he and Teagan had long since prepared to leave for the capital the moment all of Elissa’s companions had returned, and only these few messages had to be sent before they could begin the trip itself.

It was a chilly morning, and in spite of the coming events Elissa was glad to be heading north again. Back home, and likely in Denerim as well, the daffodils would have come and gone by now, replaced by peonies, bluebells, and the first of the season’s roses. But here in Redcliffe there was still a thick coat of frost on the ground most mornings, and the castle’s gardens were still quite barren.

“I was wondering where you’d gotten off to,” she heard from near the castle’s main doors, and smiling she saw Alistair come down the stairs to join her in the courtyard. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Not really,” she admitted as he wrapped his arms around her and she leaned into him for warmth. “Even without the Landsmeet looming over us, I’m not sure I like the idea of this particular trip. We’ll have half of Eamon’s household with us, so it’s not exactly going to be as easy as it usually is to avoid any darkspawn bands that might be lining the highway.”

“Well, we can’t split into multiple groups either. If we did either you and I would go ahead, leaving Eamon, Teagan, and your brother unprotected from any soldiers Loghain might have waiting, or you and I have to split up. I don’t know that I really believe the archdemon would be able to send an assassin after you, but I’m not going to take the chance that I’m wrong and leave you alone, either.”

She’d had numerous dreams since the first where she had seen through the dragon’s eyes and spoken with his voice, and each was nearly the same as the last. Gradually Elissa watched as a single hurlock rose above the others; it would be some time still before its claim over the horde was complete, but it was obvious that this one would become Urthemiel’s chief general.

“Come on,” Alistair told her, leading her back toward a shortcut to the kitchens that opened up into the courtyard. “We’ll get some breakfast, and by the time that’s done and the rest of our things are packed everyone else should be ready to go as well.”

Elissa nodded absently as she followed, remembering the most recent of her nightmares. She was certain that there was still time before the hurlock she’d seen could be sent after her, but something in the tone of Urthemiel’s voice chilled her far more than the threat of a darkspawn assassin. Initially, the dragon seemed to realize that it would be safer for him to send another after her, in spite of his original declaration that he would end her himself. At some point between her previous attempt on his life and now, his anger had flared to the point where her attack was much more personal than it had previously been.

There might be random skirmishes on the road, darkspawn or otherwise, but Elissa realized suddenly that none of them would be assassins sent after her as the archdemon had originally planned. Urthemiel dreamed instead of destroying her personally, of her flesh and bone and blood between his teeth.


	33. Secrets Kept

_“I once dreamed that Loghain brought me a barrel of cheese._  
 _I opened it up, and there were mice inside. Made of cheese.  
_ _Which we ate while singing sea chanteys.  
_ _Are you saying this held some deeper meaning?”_

 

“Lady Elissa, if you stop us like this one more time, the Landsmeet will be over before we even reach Denerim!”

The Warden rolled her eyes where she had stopped her horse a short distance ahead of the arl’s entourage. “Yes, Eamon,” she called back dryly. “Which is exactly why we’ve managed to get a party of this size almost to South Reach in barely more than a week. That includes evading all but three bands of darkspawn in spite of the fact that we’ve crossed directly through the bulk of the horde. Now be quiet so I can hear what’s ahead.”

Glancing skyward she spied a great raven circling just a short distance away; what little sunlight managed to penetrate the roiling cloud cover reflected a violet sheen off the bird’s wings as it slowly spiraled toward a nearby hill. The fact that Morrigan was a witch was not only well known, but more or less well tolerated by Eamon’s soldiers and servants as well; in spite of this she still chose distant and out of sight locations to change form before and after scouting the terrain ahead.

Elissa caught Alistair’s attention and gestured toward the hill where Morrigan had just landed. He nodded to confirm that he’d keep a watch over everyone travelling with them, so she rode ahead to meet her friend. The witch had become oddly protective of her since their conversation in Redcliffe, though Morrigan had refused all of her attempts to learn more about the ritual. Any time Elissa tried to broach the topic again Morrigan would change the subject in any way she could—including changing into a small swarm of bees and flying out the open window the day after their initial discussion.

The Warden climbed the hill carefully now to meet her. “How are things up ahead?” she asked, dismounting as she closed the gap between them.

“Quiet, for the most part,” Morrigan replied as she preened the feathers of the single spaulder she wore on her left shoulder. “I spoke to the arl at the fortress ahead—Bryland, his name was? He has opened his doors to us for the night, and will join us when we leave again in the morning.”

“I’ll let Eamon know, so that at least some of his men can sleep indoors for a night. The rest of us should probably camp, though; there’s no sense in everyone crowding in, and doing so will just make it take longer to leave tomorrow.”

Morrigan raised one eyebrow. “And this has nothing to do with the fact that Arl Eamon expects that you and Alistair _not_ share rooms publicly, I presume.”

“Yes, well, Eamon can expect whatever he wants,” Elissa snorted. “That doesn’t mean he’s going to get it. So far as whatever status as a noblewoman I may still hold in spite of being a Grey Warden, my brother technically has authority over me, not Eamon. If Fergus has no objections, then the good arl can shove his opinions up his ass.”

Laughing at the imagery, the witch shook her head. “I understand the politics of your engagement, but even after all this time I still do not see the appeal he holds for you,” she admitted after a bit. “Does his company not grow tiresome?”

“Morrigan,” Elissa began, smirking, “has Leliana been trying to teach you how to gossip, of all things?”

“I should think if _that_ were the case, I’d be a fair bit more skilled,” she huffed indignantly. “I wish merely to understand. Your relationship, particularly how it influences your actions, will very likely change the shape of the entire world. You helped to free me from Flemeth, Elissa, but because of that I am no longer certain what my place in this world should be. If I am to live in such a world, I feel I should know what motivations will be shaping it.”

“That’s fair, I suppose,” the Warden conceded. “And it’s at least a better argument for questioning us than Wynne’s ever presented. If we win the Landsmeet, and survive the battle, Alistair and I will take our places in Denerim.”

“So you will abandon your duty to the Wardens?”

“I… never thought about it in those exact terms, but I suppose we’ll have to. Alistair certainly won’t be permitted to continue to serve once he’s been crowned. But once the archdemon is killed, the majority of our duty as Wardens will have expired regardless. If I’m able, then once everything else is settled I’ll probably see about rebuilding the Order locally. Once that’s done and I’ve trained a replacement, I’ll be able to return to the palace and maybe even pretend to be normal again.”

Morrigan watched her quietly for a few moments, considering her answer. “You assume that you will be designated commander once the Blight is done?”

“This is all based on your assurances that you have a loophole that keeps Alistair and I both alive, of course, but yes. If we can become the first Grey Wardens in history to survive an archdemon’s death, then I doubt the other Wardens will stop to question it if I continue to give the orders here.” Elissa paused, studying the witch carefully. “Speaking of that loophole, I’ve gladly stopped drinking Wynne’s teas, but I wish you’d tell me more about this ritual that’s going to save us all—especially since it seems like it’s going to result in me going to battle while pregnant. Somehow I doubt Urthemiel is going to be understanding if I need to run off in the middle of an epic duel to be violently sick.”

“Ideally? Yes, you will be pregnant when you face the dragon. Aside from that, you’ll learn what you need to when you need to—and you’ll not breathe a word of it to anyone. Now come here,” Morrigan ordered, and Elissa obeyed with a sigh while her friend lay one hand to her belly as she mentally probed for any sign of life within the younger woman. This was the third such examination Morrigan had subjected her to in the past week, and each time the witch seemed more and more troubled.

“Are you sure that you and Alistair know how these things work?” the witch demanded irritably. “It certainly sounds most nights like you understand; even in spite of your taint, with your habits you should have been with child months ago.”

“Well unless you have any recommendations-”

Morrigan made a slightly disgusted noise as she waved Elissa away. “Just deliver South Reach’s message and return to your fool. Surely the two of you will figure things out sooner rather than later.” The air around Morrigan distorted as she began the spells to change her form back to that of the raven. “I’ll return by morning, so make certain that the watch knows to expect me. In the meantime I’m going to scout as far north as I can manage tonight; with luck I’ll have news from Denerim when I return.”

“Be careful,” Elissa called after her as the witch winged off without acknowledging the Warden further.

Their entourage arrived at South Reach shortly before dusk, and once Elissa was certain that everything was settled for their camp she set out in search of her other companions. Both Wardens had been stuck with Eamon the majority of the trip, and as such she’d barely spoken to anyone since leaving Redcliffe. It didn’t take long to find Sten training with Redcliffe’s knights; likewise Zevran and Oghren were found gambling and drinking with some of the arl’s other soldiers. Wynne had long since retired to Arl Bryland’s castle, but Leliana had all but vanished. When she finally asked after the bard she learned that the Orlesian had gone to the castle to check on Wynne.

Sighing, she started back toward the tent she shared with Alistair. She’d sworn to Morrigan that she’d not discuss with the others what she knew about the death of an archdemon or what little knew about the witch’s ritual, and at the same time she was forced to swear that she’d produce an heir as quickly as possible. Elissa couldn’t fathom what carrying a child might have to do with surviving the soul-blending that Morrigan had described, but then again she wasn’t going to argue either. She never really assumed she’d be the motherly sort, but if she was going to be queen then it _would_ be simplest to get such things out of the way earlier than later. Not being able to talk to anyone about it all was really a small irritation, but it was an irritation nonetheless.

“You could be on the moon, for as much attention as you’re paying things.”

Elissa smiled as she turned to find Alistair coming to join her from the direction of the makeshift kitchens elsewhere in the camp. He hadn’t _startled_ her, precisely, but for him to get as close as he did before giving his presence away told her that she probably should be paying closer attention to her surroundings. “And what would you know about the moon, hm?”

“Oh, the moon’s the second thing they teach you about at Templar School,” he began with a grin, passing her a small sack of food as they walked. “Right after they teach you about witches who turn you into toads they start lessons about the moon. Did you know it’s a solid ball of cheese?”

“The moon is a ball of cheese?” she repeated, to which he nodded earnestly.

“Oh yes, absolutely. According to philosophers, there wasn’t a moon before the first Blight. The Maker put it there to punish mortals; it’s a paradise we can never reach.”

She couldn’t help but to laugh. “Are you sure aren’t confusing the moon with the Black City in the Fade?”

Alistair made a shocked little noise and held one hand over his heart as if wounded. “You sound like Morrigan,” he pouted. “Say what you want, but I know my lessons. You see, the Maker realized after throwing all the magisters out of the Black City that just because it was mages that technically ruined things for everyone else, there were probably non-mages involved in their plot as well.”

“What’s that got to do with the moon?”

“I’m getting to that part! As you know, only mages can get to the Fade normally, meaning that only mages could see the paradise their actions had lost them, forever beyond their reach. But since not everyone involved was a mage, the Maker realized He had to create a similar paradise that the rest of us could see, so that everyone else involved was likewise punished. So He created the moon out of cheese and placed it high in the sky where no one could reach it.”

“What sort?”

“What?”

“What sort of cheese is it? I find it hard to believe that your lessons went into so much detail without mentioning if it’s cheddar, or brie, or some other variety,” she grinned as they reached the tent and ducked inside for the night. 


	34. Only Way to Kill a Snake

_The Joining binds us to the darkspawn. You know this._   
_If you were to forswear your oath and flee today, you’d find yourself in the Deep Roads or the Blight-lands, given time._

 

Elissa woke with a splitting headache in a room she didn’t recognize. Glancing around she noticed Moira curled up on a thick rug near the door, and both her gear and Alistair’s stacked neatly in one corner of the room. It had been late—well after midnight—when they arrived finally at Eamon’s estate in the center of Denerim the previous night but she didn’t remember going to bed.

Carefully sitting up she winced at an unexpected soreness in her sword arm. Pushing her shift back she touched the bruise on her shoulder gently and remembered the encounter of the night before. Loghain and Howe were waiting for them when they arrived, and it had taken Alistair, Teagan, and Ser Gilmore together to hold Elissa back and disarm her before she could rip out Howe’s throat. After that… There was nothing but blackness.

“I see you have awoken.”

Turning toward the voice she saw Morrigan sitting in a chair not far from the bed, Flemeth’s heavy grimoire open across her lap. Setting the book aside the witch stood and came to inspect her arm. “That knight of your brother’s is nearly as much a fool as your Alistair. Granted, when I reached you all you may as well have been a wild beast, but still he nearly broke your arm trying to restrain you.”

“Damn fool should have let me kill the snake when I had the chance,” Elissa muttered to herself.

Morrigan returned to the chair to collect her book and made her way to the door. “While I would normally agree, considering what I have heard of him, cutting down Arl Howe will likely not serve any purpose beyond sating your own desire for revenge.”

“But why help them stop me?”

“Because you still have a duty to perform that outweighs your lust for revenge, for one. Even had you succeeded with Howe, that woman Cauthrien would have cut you down where you stood. At any rate, when one of Eamon’s guards informed me of what was happening I came and put you to sleep so that you could be removed from the main hall without any bloodshed. I did what I could for your arm, but if it’s not well by midday you should probably find Wynne. It may need healing beyond what my potions can provide.”

“Morrigan,” Elissa called before the dark haired woman could leave the room, and the witch paused at the door. “You’re probably right. I’m still not happy about it, but thank you regardless.”

“’Tis nothing. At any rate, I have other things I must attend to this morning. Alistair should return shortly with your breakfast; the only destinations of interest to him seem to be the kitchen and your bed, and as he left for the kitchen an hour ago, he should be back here any moment now.”

 

* * *

 

“I was allowed to move about more when we were pretending I was an Orlesian noblewoman!”

Leliana set aside her book as she watched Elissa pace the length of the library in Eamon’s Denerim estate. “Would you prefer to be arrested in the market as a king killer? Or perhaps ambushed in some out of the way alley where Loghain can claim it was an horrible, tragic coincidence?” the bard asked pointedly, and Elissa sighed in frustration.

“I’m sorry, you know that’s not what I meant, Lil. It’s just that it’s been three days since we got here, and the only ones allowed to leave the estate have been you and Zev.”

“It is just two more mornings, Elissa. You’ve spent more time inside than this, it will not kill you.”

The Warden gave her friend a wry smile. “Being snowed in at Redcliffe hardly counts; the only way to stay warm is to stay inside,” she pointed out as she finally took a seat in a chair near Leliana’s.

The Orlesian raised one eyebrow. “From what I heard, it is a good way to stay warm in the Deep Roads as well.”

Elissa was about to reply when there was a knock at the library door, and Alistair entered just a moment later. Considering the topic at hand, she blushed and laughed when she saw him. It wasn’t the first time he’d caught her gossiping with Leliana; _that_ time he had turned bright scarlet and fled immediately.

“Do I even want to know?” he asked, curious, as he gave her a small kiss.

“Probably not, love,” she admitted with a smile. “Any news from the rest of the city?”

Alistair shrugged. “Nothing definitive that I know of. It’s hard to tell when we’re on house arrest like we are, though. But there is an elf that Eamon’s meeting with now; the servant that came for me said that the arl wants both of us to talk to her as soon as possible.”

“I thought Shianni wasn’t willing to leave the Alienage,” she frowned, instinctively beginning to chew on her thumb and making a face when Leliana reached over to swat her hand away.

“No, this one’s Orlesian; her dress could put some of Isolde’s to shame.”

Scowling, Elissa stood from her chair. “Let me guess, dark hair?” she asked, when Alistair nodded she swore. “Anora has some nerve sending Erlina here. Let’s go. I want to get this over with.”

Lady Cousland followed as Alistair led her to Eamon’s study where the arl apparently waited with Anora’s supposed maid. She had been raised to be tolerant of other cultures, especially of Orlais; her father had taught her that any crimes committed by the Empire against Ferelden were instigated by those who were now long dead and there was no reason to hold grudges. It was a tolerance she knew the Mac Tir family did not share. At least, they hadn’t until Anora had selected this particular handmaiden a few years ago. In the few times Elissa had met Erlina, she got the distinct impression that the elf was absorbing far more of her surroundings than she appeared, and the maid always just _happened_ to be nearby, ready to be summoned.

“You honestly expect me to believe that Loghain would be willing to kill his own daughter, just so that he can blame it on Eamon?” she scoffed when the maid finished her story.

“I do,” Erlina nodded. “He has her captive now at Teyrn Howe’s estate; they are coming to believe that she will make a stronger ally as a martyr than as a queen.”

Elissa tried her best to ignore the elf’s use of the title ‘teyrn’ before Howe’s name. “Wait downstairs,” she finally instructed. “I need to speak with Eamon about a number of things before I decide what to do.”

The maid scurried from the room and Elissa’s glare. The Warden counted the time it should take for Erlina to make it from the hall to the first floor, before she finally turned to Eamon.

“You realize this is a trap, of course.”

The arl rubbed a weary hand across his eyes. “Yes, but I fear it is one we cannot afford not to spring. If Anora is harmed in any way, responsibility _will_ be placed at our door step.”

Pacing, she began to consider how best to proceed. There was no way that either she or Eamon could allow Alistair to go; if he were caught, the entire Landsmeet would be doomed. Alistair would likewise try to forbid her from going, and while his reasons would be entirely different from her own, Elissa didn’t believe that she should go, either. He would simply want to protect her from harm; but she knew that if Morrigan couldn’t provide her miracle that she would need to be the one to kill the archdemon, to keep Alistair alive to actually sit on the throne they were trying to win him.

_Then again…_

Howe had claimed the Arl of Denerim’s title and estate, and it was that estate where the queen was currently held. She’d have to act quickly, before Fergus caught wind of any plan—she didn’t know if he would try to join her or stop her, and neither option would be acceptable now. Still pacing, she shot a glance in Alistair’s direction and met his eye; he groaned openly when he saw the look on her face.

“You’re not going alone.”

“Of course not,” she agreed. “But at the same time, I’m not going with you, either. If anything goes wrong, we need at least one Grey Warden who hasn’t been hung for treason that can kill the archdemon.”

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t quite dawn the next morning when Elissa followed Erlina through the city wearing borrowed armor that proudly boasted the bear crest of Amaranthine. Zevran followed wearing gear almost identical to her own, while Morrigan was heavily cowled in robes that might have once belonged in the Circle.

“The teyrn, he hires new guards every day,” the elf whispered as they went. “So almost no one in the castle will know the difference between a newcomer and a well-dressed intruder. We will still need to use the servant’s entrance at the back, however. As the queen’s maid it is best that I not be seen coming in or going out.”

They let themselves in through the kitchens, and Erlina quickly led them to the guest room where Anora was being held.

“The Grey Warden is here, my lady,” the elf whispered quietly through the door, which seemed to radiate a light of its own.

“Thank the Maker!” there was a noticeable sigh of relief even through the sealed door. “I’d greet you properly, but it seems we’ve had a bit of a setback.”

“So I see.” Elissa glared at Anora’s handmaiden.

The other woman refused to meet her gaze. “This barrier, it was not here when I left! There is a mage with the teyrn; he must have cast a spell!”

Elissa glanced at Morrigan, who nodded and began to inspect the door itself. “I am sorry, the spell can only be broken by the one who cast it—or by the caster’s death.”

“Any idea where I can find this mage, Erlina?”

“N-no,” she admitted. “But the teyrn is almost certainly in his rooms! If you can capture him, he will know where to find his pet mage!”

The Warden felt her blood run cold. “Which way?”

She stalked off the direction the elf indicated, stopping only just outside the door to Howe’s chambers when she felt a light touch at her elbow. “Do not allow emotion to cloud you, _mi querida_ ,” Zevran warned quietly. “There is justice to be done, yes, but your mission must come first.”

“I’ll handle it, Zev,” she whispered back as she worked the lock on the door. “You just be sure to cover my back.”

“Are you certain that Alistair will not mind?”

Elissa didn’t even have to see the elf to know he was wearing a huge grin. “One, this is neither the time nor place,” she began, when suddenly the lock gave and she tucked her tools away again. “And two, you know that’s not what I meant.”

Inching the door open, the three of them crept quietly through the empty parlor and into the bedroom beyond. The room was immaculate; not so much as a single thread was out of place on the bed’s comforters.

“The maid must have lied,” Morrigan said, scowling. “This room has clearly not been occupied in some ti-”

Zevran put a finger to the witch’s lips to quiet her, which only irritated her further. Before she could spit any insults his way, however, the elf quickly crossed to a shelf on the other side of the untouched bed and after trying a number of random books from its shelves, the book case sprung ajar, revealing a passage behind it.

“Leliana and I were here during our last visit to Denerim, while you and Alistair were drinking with the dwarves,” he explained. “Let us just say that Howe is not the first master of this estate to hold some rather… perverse tastes.”

Elissa heard him, but wasn’t really listening. Instead the song of the darkspawn had returned to her mind ever so quietly. It wasn’t like the harsh sound of the horde itself or the beautiful melodies of Urthemiel, though; it wasn’t even like the slight buzzing beneath her consciousness when Alistair was near. It was… tired, even weary, like the source had been trudging forever onward and wanted only to finally rest.

“What’s below?” she asked finally, pulling her attention back to the matters at hand.

The elf shrugged. “Your standard dungeon, I suppose. Filthy cells, some torture devices, half-dead prisoners. The usual.” Zevran began down the passage and paused at a second door. Elissa could hear the sounds of a scuffle from where even she stood, and she quietly drew her sword while the assassin pushed the door inward just a hair.

“I know that you are there,” an oddly-accented voice called from below. “Come down quickly, before any other guards find this one here.”

Sword in hand she carefully pushed the door the rest of the way open to see a guard lying at a sick angle while two phantom hands tried to rustle through the man’s pockets from beyond the bars of a cell. Realizing this prisoner was the source of the buzzing in her ears, Elissa immediately sheathed her weapon and rushed forward to help. The guard didn’t carry a key to the man’s cell, so she picked the lock quickly instead while Zevran and Morrigan looked on, confused.

“Are we rescuing random prisoners, then?”

Elissa turned to the witch while the prisoner relieved the guard of his armor and weapons. “He’s a Warden, Morrigan. Hardly a random prisoner.”

“Ah, so you do recognize me, my lady.” The man bowed, “I am Riordan, the Senior Warden of Jader, though like you, my lady, I was born and bred in Highever.”

“You know me?”

Riordan laughed quietly, a tired sound not unlike the song of his darkspawn blood. “We have never met, my lady, but your father’s men used to tell stories of you and your exploits in the practice yard even when you were a tiny thing. When I heard that Duncan was going to seek recruits in Highever, I actually suggested that he seek you out.”

She almost allowed herself a small, proud smile until the memory of Duncan coming to her home reminded her of her missions now—both of them, regardless of what the others insisted. “You know what happened the night Duncan arrived in Highever, I take it?”

The senior Warden nodded solemnly. “It is a crime that will not go unpunished, my lady.”

“No, it won’t,” Elissa replied grimly as she met his gaze. “Can you fight?”

 

* * *

 

Thinking back on it, Elissa realized she should probably have deferred to Riordan’s leadership the moment he was freed. He was essentially the same rank as Duncan had been, and Duncan had been her commander, even if he had died in battle just hours later. As it was, though, the elder Warden seemed content to follow her lead as Lady Cousland, at least for the time being.

It didn’t take long for them to make their way through to the deepest chambers of Howe’s dungeon, where they found the arl waiting for them almost calmly.

“Well, well. Bryce Cousland’s little spitfire. All grown up and still playing the man.” Howe turned to face Elissa and her companions and clucked his tongue in disapproval. “I must say, I never thought you’d be fool enough to turn up here. But then I never thought you’d live, either.”

“I’m glad to disappoint. I’ll make sure it won’t be for the last time.”

The arl sneered down at her. “Is this about your family? Still? But I have done so much more than wipe your name from Fereldan memory.”

“You really have no idea, do you, Howe?” she asked with a sudden, cold smile. “You might have managed to take Highever, but trusting the darkspawn to eliminate Fergus was a mistake. Do you honestly think the Landsmeet is going to grant you the title of teyrn and allow you to vote on the city’s behalf with my brother there?”

Howe’s sneer deepened until he was practically bearing his teeth at her. “There it is, right there! That damned look in the eye that marked every Cousland success that held me back. Your father would be proud, no doubt. I, on the other hand, want you _dead_ more than ever.”

His guards split up to attack her companions, while Howe and his mage faced her directly. Elissa had learned in recent months to eliminate any source of magic immediately and to focus on other foes afterward, but it galled her to be forced to direct her attention anywhere other than the snake that had killed most of her family.

There was a whistle from behind her, and Zevran tossed her an additional knife he’d hidden among his armor. Elissa nodded in brief thanks, slightly embarrassed that she hadn’t thought of doing the same herself but grateful that she had a blade in each hand again instead of the single sword of Erlina’s provided disguise. Turning back as quickly as she could she narrowly dodged a blast of power from the mage’s staff before shoving her weight behind the flat of her blade and knocking the mage off his feet. Almost without looking she slashed at the man’s throat and spun on her heel, seeking Howe.

The arl stood waiting for her, dual daggers at the ready. He was far from the hero he’d once been decades ago at White River, however; even then, he likely had only half as much skill as Zevran in battle, and Elissa had bested the Crow easily. Elissa slapped the first of his blades away with her sword effortlessly, then caught the second between her sword and her borrowed dagger and ripped that from his grasp as well.

Kicking him full in the chest she knocked him to the ground, her knee to his chest as she pressed her sword to his throat. “What’s wrong, Rendon?” she hissed at him. “Can’t handle an opponent unless you’ve stabbed them in the back first?”

“Maker spit on you, bitch,” he gasped as she pulled the blade against his skin and the first trickles of blood made their way to the floor beneath him. Howe’s breath began to gurgle as she pressed the sword deeper into his throat for a wound that would bleed quickly enough that no mage could heal him. “I deserved… _more_!”

“So did my family, you piece of shit.”

Elissa stood over Howe for several long moments, watching him bleed, when Riordan finally cleared his throat to get her attention. “My lady, we should be moving. Your ruse to enter the estate may have worked, but getting out will not be so simple.”

Nodding absently, Lady Cousland cleaned her blades and passed the borrowed knife back to Zevran. She then quickly checked Howe’s pockets for anything that might help them—keys, documents, anything—and found a small chest key. “Look familiar?” she asked her companions, passing the key around for them to inspect.

“Was there not a chest in the arl’s chambers that we did not open?” Zevran suggested. “Perhaps the key is to its lock?”

“We’ll check it on the way out,” Elissa promised. “We still have to collect Anora on the way out as well.”

She led them back through the now-vacant dungeons and up to the arl’s chambers. Zevran stopped to empty the chest, and frowned at the documents within, twisting them first one way and then the other. “Do these mean anything to you, _señor_?” he asked as he handed the papers to Riordan, who sighed with relief.

“I do not expect that anyone under Howe’s or Loghain’s employ could have broken the ciphers on them, but I was worried nonetheless that these were lost to me. Thank you, elf.”

Once Riordan had safely tucked the documents away, the group made its way quickly through the halls of the castle to the room where Anora was held. Elissa unlocked the door to the queen’s chamber easily with the barrier gone and pushed the door open.

“My thanks, Ward- Lady Elissa?” The queen was dressed head to toe in a full guard’s uniform nearly identical to the one Elissa wore; more surprising, though, was that she clearly had not expected Lady Cousland to be leading her rescue.

“Anora, why are you dressed like that?”

“Because there are two sorts of people in this house; those loyal to Howe and those loyal to me. Should I be found by Howe’s guards, I will be killed. And should I be found by any of my own people, they will insist on returning me to the palace and my father—who may _also_ try to have me killed. Escaping unrecognized to Eamon’s estate is my only hope for survival now.”

Scowling, Elissa shook her head. “Just stay close and be quiet,” she ordered.

Everything about this was wrong. Riordan was right before; they should have been wading through guards to get even this far from the entrance to the dungeons. And now Anora was in possession of a full suit of armor identical to the disguises her maid had provided, even though the door to Anora’s gilded cage was locked and sealed the entire time.

Still troubled but with no other real options, Elissa led her companions from the queen’s chamber and froze. They’d have to cross the main hall to reach the servant’s entrance they’d used before, and she could hear clearly from here the steady, steel footfalls of men in armor in the hall beyond.

Elissa glared in Anora’s direction at the sound, but the queen seemed untroubled by it. There were at least two dozen men out there; far too many for their group to battle alone. Thinking quickly, the younger Warden resheathed her sword and indicated for the others to do the same as she led the way into the main hall.

One of Loghain’s knights—the woman Ser Cauthrien that Morrigan had referred to a few mornings before—approached them. “Warden, by order of the regent, you are under arrest for the murder of Teyrn Howe and his men-at-arms. Surrender, and you may be shown mercy.”

“You don’t know the whole story, Cauthrien.”

The warrior looked her over doubtfully. “Oh? Is that not the teyrn’s blood on you now?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t kill the snake, I said you don’t know the whole story. Let my companions—and the queen—go back to Arl Eamon’s estate just outside the market. It’s Alistair and I that Loghain wants, isn’t it? Well, here you have me. Loghain will have to settle for just the one of us.”

“ _Mi querida_ , are you certain this is the wisest course?”

“Killing them just reinforces Loghain’s lies about me. Make sure Alistair doesn’t do anything stupid while I’m gone, hm?”

 _“Por supuesto_.”

 

* * *

 

It was only a short while later that Cauthrien and her soldiers led Elissa through the streets of the palace district in shackles toward Fort Drakon. The Warden kept her head held high as she was paraded along like a trophy for the nobles gathering for the coming Landsmeet to see.

A glint of light in one of the windows high overhead caught her eye and she stopped walking briefly, wondering if she had actually seen what she thought. Cauthrien shoved her from behind after only a moment, and Elissa took the opportunity to fall in line with the knight.

“How much do you know about what Loghain’s been doing since declaring himself regent?” she asked her captor barely loud enough to be heard. “Even before that, you were on the ground in Ostagar when he gave the order to retreat; tell me that there was no way you and your men could have saved Cailan had Loghain not forced you to flee.”

The knight’s gaze fell to the ground before them as she continued walking, but she did not answer. At the same time, Elissa noticed a second glint of light in a second window, and behind it a flash of red hair. The bard nodded when she realized Elissa had seen her, and the Warden pulled Cauthrien to the ground as two of the woman’s guards sprouted feathers. The remaining guards were all either struck down by lightning or lulled to sleep on the spot as Morrigan and Wynne cast their spells from the shadows.

Elissa twisted around a bit to fish one of her lock picks out of the chignon Morrigan had tied her hair up into, and immediately began to undo the latches on her shackles. The set on her wrists fell off easily and she began on the set binding her feet.

“You’re a good person, Cauthrien,” she whispered as she worked as quickly as possible. “But Loghain isn’t the man everyone thought he was, at least not anymore. You’re closer to him than anyone else—including the late arl—so you must be able to see this.” The locks around her feet fell off, and she met the knight’s gaze one last time. “Don’t follow us, and they won’t harm you. Go back to the palace and let the Landsmeet run its course. If you still have a problem with me after that, we’ll take our issues up privately at some point in the future.”

With that the Warden ran off into the nearest alley where Sten and Ser Gilmore waited to escort her safely back to Eamon’s estate.


	35. The Stage is Set

Maker, my enemies are abundant.  
Many are those who rise up against me.  
But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion,  
Should they set themselves against me.  
 _-Trials 1:1_

 

When she finally returned to Eamon’s estate, Elissa found Alistair locked in their room, two guards posted outside the thick oak door and another in the garden underneath the window. The guards nodded to her when she approached, one of them unlocking the door and handing her the key, before excusing themselves to retrieve their comrade downstairs.

Alistair was there the moment she opened the door; the anger at being locked away melting into worry as he realized she was covered in blood.

“Don’t worry, it’s not mine,” she assured as she wormed her way out of his arms to begin to remove the borrowed suit of armor. There wasn’t an inch of her that wasn’t exhausted, and it must have shown, because after just a moment Alistair began to help her silently. Once all the buckles and ties were undone he helped her out of the cuirass itself before going to find a servant to request water for a bath.

When he returned he found her slouched in one of the wooden chairs at the table, staring blankly at a random spot near the ceiling. “So what happened?” he asked gently, removing the pins from her hair so it could fall loose. “When everyone but you returned, I tried to ask what had happened. Instead of answering me, Morrigan put a damned sleep spell on me and when I woke I was locked in here without any of our armor or weapons.”

“I’m sorry, love, that’s my fault,” she apologized, leaning into his hand as he rubbed her scalp. “The only way to get everyone else out safely was to surrender, and I very specifically told them not to let you do anything stupid.”

There was a knock at the door, and Alistair let in the servants to fill the tub while Elissa continued to stare at nothing. Once they were gone he kneeled down in front of her and forced her to look him in the eye. “That explains why no one would tell me anything, but it doesn’t answer my question, Lissa.”

“It’s done,” she whispered after an eternity, tears welling up as Lady Cousland’s mask crumbled finally. “It _was_ a trap, like I figured it was, but he’s dead nonetheless. I sliced him open and watched him bleed. It wasn’t until later, after supposedly freeing Anora, that Ser Cauthrien got there. I don’t think she expected me to accept the opportunity to surrender, but she’d made the offer nonetheless; there wasn’t much choice for her afterward but to take me alive, rather than cutting us all down where we stood.”

Guiding her from the chair to the tub he helped her finish undressing and offered his arm to steady her as she stepped numbly into the water. “What do you mean ‘supposedly freeing Anora’ though, love?” he prompted carefully, trying to keep her talking so that she wouldn’t wall herself away from him. “I saw her in the courtyard with everyone else; she got here safely.”

“Like I said, it was a trap,” Elissa replied, trying to give him a weak smile. “I got into the estate and to the queen’s room as planned, but there was a barrier over the door—one that conveniently only the mage who accompanied Howe could remove. So like a fool, I go storming off to find Howe and his mage and kill them both. But then I returned to Anora; her door was still locked but when I opened it, she was dressed in full armor identical to ours. The _exact same_ armor Erlina provided.”

Alistair scowled. “And I somehow doubt that either Howe or Loghain would happen to forget such a disguise in the room where they locked Anora away before they put her there.”

“Exactly. At any rate, we freed Anora and were making our way back to the servants’ entrance when Cauthrien and her soldiers surrounded us. The options were fight and die, making us look even more guilty in the process, or let her take Loghain the prize he coveted so much.”

Sighing wearily, Alistair shook his head. “I get why you did what you did, love, but what if Leliana and the others hadn’t been able to reach you before the soldiers had managed throw you in Fort Drakon?”

“It was a risk I had to take,” she answered simply. “There’s another thing—I don’t think Howe was involved in this particular plot. Or if he was, he wasn’t given all the details. I think he honestly thought he was ordered to keep Anora hostage, while she and her father were trying to lure us out instead. They had to know that I’d respond if she was being held by that snake, that the chance of killing him would be all the bait they’d need to catch me. No matter what, they knew that I’d go. If you came along as well, then less work for them later. But even without you there, if they could have captured me…”

“…then they’d have used you against me,” he finished. “And by the Maker, I’d have given them anything they wanted to get you back.”

Leaving her with a light kiss to her forehead, he let her finish bathing while he fetched a towel and one of her shifts. “Where’s Fergus?” she asked suddenly while he was drying her hair, and he laughed quietly.

“I haven’t seen him since before the others returned with Anora, but my guess is that Morrigan knocked him out same as me. He was with Eamon before that, though.”

Elissa scrunched up her nose. “I can’t deal with Eamon right now. If Fergus comes looking for me, wake me up, but otherwise can you just lie down with me for a while? At least until I fall asleep? I just don’t want to be by myself right now.”

“Of course, love,” he assured her, tucking her safely into the bed and positioning himself so that she could use him as a pillow.

“And wake me up for supper, I suppose,” she added wearily before sleep took her. “But I don’t want to eat with everyone else yet. I don’t want to have to answer questions from every direction tonight.”

“Of course,” he repeated, kissing her hair as she fell into a fitful sleep.

 

* * *

 

It was still long before dawn when Elissa finally awoke, her face buried in Alistair’s neck and her cheeks crusted with dried tears. She wriggled from his grip, careful not to wake him, and after retrieving her robe she padded as quietly to the door as possible. Moira lifted her head briefly as she passed and gave a curious little whine, but the hound settled down again when Elissa held up one hand quickly to shush her before the dog managed to wake Alistair.

Elissa realized once she was in the corridor that she really didn’t have a destination in mind, so she wandered aimlessly for the most part, pausing at the library here, the kitchens there, looking for something but not certain what or where to find it. She finally made her way to the garden, shivering as she stepped barefoot across the dewy grass.

Sitting in a swing she found hanging from one of the few trees in the garden, she kicked at the ground under her feet just enough to start the swing swaying forward and back. After a while, though, Elissa became aware that she wasn’t alone.

“Are you going to keep skulking, Sten?” she called out to the warrior. “I’ve never thought that hiding in the shadows was really your style, you know.”

“I apologize, kadan,” he nodded to her. “It did not seem appropriate to intrude.”

“What are you doing out here so late, anyway?”

The Qunari began to walk the perimeter of the garden. “This place is insufficiently defended. During the day the arl’s guard seems to manage, but I do not trust this city once night falls. I have been patrolling the grounds overnight since we arrived.”

“That would explain why I’ve barely seen you the past few days, I suppose.”

“Correct. I do not have the benefit of your Grey Warden ability to resist fatigue indefinitely.”

“Even Alistair and I can’t keep going forever, Sten,” she shrugged. “There _are_ limits to what even we can handle.”

Sten paused his pacing to study her. “Since I have joined you, you have battled demons and removed curses. You raise armies, battle the darkspawn. You have already determined the succession of one nation’s throne and in little more than a day from now you will be naming the Warden Arvaarad as the king of this nation.”

“So?”

“It is just that you have continued to accomplish one feat after another that should not have been possible. I am beginning to doubt that you have limits. Or perhaps, kadan, you simply do not consider the possibility of failure, and that is why you continue to succeed.”

Elissa gave the giant a small smile. “You know, I think that’s the longest string of words any of us have gotten out of you since you joined us in Lothering.”

“I believe you are correct, kadan,” he replied after a moment of thought. “I will be more cautious about such things in the future.”

Laughing softly she let the swing come to a stop and stood, gathering her robe against the early morning chill. “Don’t stay out too late, Sten, and don’t stay up all night tomorrow. If things go badly in the Landsmeet, we may need you ready to fight.”

“I understand, kadan. You should rest yourself; I am certain there will be many issues requiring your attention ahead of your Landsmeet.”

 

* * *

 

“That bitch expects me to _what_?”

Eamon had summoned Elissa, Alistair, and a handful of their companions early the next morning to finalize plans for the Landsmeet, and he sighed heavily at Elissa’s outburst before continuing his argument. “I am not suggesting that we change our strategy and actually endorse Anora’s own bid for the throne. But you _should_ speak with her; she seems to believe that her father is planning to displace her as he did Cailan. If nothing else, perhaps an agreement can be reached that will aid us against Loghain.”

“Even if Loghain is planning something like that, Eamon, it doesn’t change the fact that she set us up,” Elissa insisted. “You weren’t at the estate; there’s no way that Anora could have had that disguise ready _and_ had Ser Cauthrien show up at precisely the moment she did unless everything had been planned from the beginning.”

“Then it’s all the more reason to play her game, my lady. Allow her to think that she’s fooled you, and that you’ll at least consider the legitimacy of her claim.”

Shaking her head in disgust, the Warden rose from her chair and began to pace. “If Anora wants to talk so badly, she can come to me when we’re done here. But what about everything else? Is there anyone who’s not arrived in the city yet?”

“Sighard and Vaughn will be arriving tonight from Dragon’s Peak,” Teagan offered. “The banns of West Hill, River Dane, and Oswin have all decided to abstain, rather than risk crossing the horde. Most of the others are either at the Gnawed Noble or in their own estates here in Denerim.”

Elissa considered the adjusted count of nobles voting the next day. “Assuming that Loghain knows about Arl Bryland, that gives us five votes that he knows of, plus Vaughn makes six. How many do Anora and her father have now that Howe’s no longer an issue? Three?”

“From what I understand,” Eamon began, exchanging a glance with Leliana, “Bann Esmerelle decided quite abruptly to return to Amaranthine City overnight.”

The Warden stopped pacing mid-step and spun to stare in shock first at her friend, and then at the arl. “You’re telling me there are only two confirmed votes against Alistair?” she asked, too shocked to even laugh at the absurdity of it all. “Not to mention both Alfstanna and Reginalda have spoken out against the Loghain, even if they haven’t committed their votes. Are we certain that he’ll even show up tomorrow?”

“I do not think you will be _that_ lucky,” Leliana began delicately. “If Loghain were the sort to give up so easily, chevaliers would still be taking whatever they wished of the countryside.”

“I agree,” Eamon nodded, his face grim. “Do not expect him to submit without a fight—literally, if it comes to it.”

On that note, everyone excused themselves to see to their various duties planned for the day. Leliana went to retrieve Zevran, to make one more attempt at convincing the elf Shianni to come along and testify the next morning. Sten and Oghren made their way to the small barracks of Eamon’s guardhouse to train, and Morrigan and Wynne each went their own ways.

“Tell Anora that if she wishes to speak with me, she can come to my rooms this afternoon, Eamon,” Elissa instructed the arl as she and Alistair made their own exit. “Because I’ll be damned if I give her the satisfaction of going to _her_ as if she’s needed.”

 

* * *

 

The sun had begun to set before Elissa finally heard an unfamiliar knock at the door to the rooms she and Alistair shared. Lady Cousland steeled herself before opening the door; she’d prefer not to be alone with the Ice Queen, if for no reason other than she didn’t entirely trust herself not to throttle the woman. Having Alistair or Leliana with her would have helped her keep her more violent impulses under control, but both were gone for the next hour at least and Elissa had no other options.

“Hello again, Lady Elissa,” Anora nodded as the Warden unlocked the door and admitted the blonde woman into her rooms. “I am glad that you are willing to speak with me. I know we were never close, but I did know your family; Eleanor in particular was like a second mother to me when she would visit the South. What Howe did… was unforgivable. It is fitting that he died at your hands.”

Elissa took a seat in the armchair nearest to the empty hearth. She had deliberately left equipment scattered over the rest of the furniture, leaving Anora no room to sit. It was nothing like a throne, but the message was clear: _You’ve sought an audience with **me** , Your Majesty. Get used to this new perspective._

Most importantly, the message was not lost on the queen. Her face only briefly betrayed her irritation before continuing on. “I will be blunt. I can see that your voice will be a strong one in the days to come. It is to you that Eamon listens, and with good reason.”

“I think you overestimate Eamon’s opinion of me, Anora. He may take _military_ advice from me, but that’s because I’m a Grey Warden now, and this war is against the darkspawn—a fact your father has yet to fully grasp, in spite of the fact that the horde has reached as far as the Northern Imperial Highway.”

Anora hesitated before replying, fidgeting with her skirt as she stared for a while at the floor. “And that is why my father must be stopped, Lady Elissa. But once that is done Ferelden will need a ruler. I would welcome your support for my throne.”

“Why should I support you?”

“For _years_ I have ruled this kingdom as Cailan’s queen. As much as they loved him, all of the Bannorn knew this to be so. Cailan was a good man. But what is needed now is not another good man but a good ruler.”

Elissa shook her head. “You think I’m an idiot, don’t you?”

“I know you think Alistair is the best choice, because he is Maric’s son, but tell me which is better, the gratitude of a weak king, or of a strong queen?”

“A _strong queen_?” Elissa laughed suddenly. “What sort of strong queen allows her father to declare himself her regent just days after leading her husband to his death? Maybe, if I hadn’t been in Ostagar when it had happened, I might have been able to accept that it was all some _horrible_ tragedy. I might have been able to believe you appointing your father as your general and advisor. But _regent_? That’s bullshit, Anora, and you know it.”

“Lady Elissa…”

“No,” she cut Anora off again and standing in anger, “and no _strong queen_ would have permitted herself to be taken captive and locked away by one of her father’s closest allies. You’re lucky it’s my word against yours in this, _your majesty_ , because you and I both know that you’ve been far more involved with your father’s plots from the beginning.”

The two women glared daggers at one another for several long moments when Anora finally broke. “What would you have me do?” she demanded. “My entire life I have been tied to this fate, to serve this nation from behind the scenes while that fool Cailan took credit for all that I have accomplished! Do not pretend that it will not end the same with that bastard!”

“No, it won’t. Unlike you, I’m willing to support my husband, to guide him. And unlike you, I won’t be making his decisions for him. I’ll advise him, as he requests it, but the decisions will be his.”

“Your... _husband_?” Anora laughed coldly. “Oh, Lady Elissa, I think I see how it is now. You and your bastard prince should enjoy your delusions while they last; even if you do miraculously manage to win tomorrow, I’ll see to it that you’ll not live to replace me as queen.”

Anora showed herself out, and just a moment later Alistair returned with supper for himself and Elissa. “I have to admit, love, I’m a bit impressed,” he smirked as he cleared a spot on the table for their plates. “I sort of figured Anora was waiting for me to leave before coming to see you, but I thought she’d be leaving with at least one black eye by the time you were done with her.”

Letting herself laugh a bit, Elissa sat and began to help herself to one of the plates. “My temper’s not _that_ bad, you know,” she smiled at him.

“Yes, but didn’t you know?” he grinned. “Anora brings out the best in people. I’m sure that would include your right hook.”

 

* * *

 

Elissa barely slept that night, tossing and turning as the nightmares brought on by her darkspawn taint grew louder and louder—the worst they’d ever been on the surface. At about an hour before dawn she finally woke and realized with dread that she could once again hear both the primal song of the horde and the beautiful calling of the Archdemon.

Reaching for Alistair she realized his side of the bed was empty, and sitting up in confusion she found him starting a small fire in the hearth to ward off the unnatural chill that had fallen. Gathering up one of the blankets she crossed the room to where he sat before the fire and bundled the fabric around them both.

“He’s on the surface, isn’t he?” Alistair asked her after sitting silently a while, and she nodded with a small sigh.

“One hurlock in particular has defeated all the others who were battling for the right to be his general,” she confirmed. “With his general in place, there’s no need for the bulk of the horde, and Urthemiel with them, to cower in the Deep Roads any longer.”

“Can you hear him?”

Hesitating, Elissa considered her answer very carefully. She knew he remembered what had happened at the Dead Trenches, and she couldn’t be certain that Alistair would allow her to try again if the opportunity to strike at Urthemiel presented itself.

“A little,” she finally admitted. “He’s still somewhere beyond Ostagar at this point, but his song is there along with the rest.”

He pulled her close and held her quietly for a long while before leaning in to kiss her deep enough that for a brief moment, she forgot the darkspawn, and the Landsmeet, and everything else that lay before them. “One battle at a time,” he whispered as he broke off the kiss, and she nodded in confirmation.

There were two battles remaining in this war, and Urthemiel would have to wait. She had to see the Landsmeet through first, and have Alistair confirmed if not officially crowned, before she could concern herself with anything else.


	36. Landsmeet

Blessed are they who stand before  
The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.  
Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.  
 _-Benedictions 4:10_

 

Elissa could hardly be certain when exactly dawn came and went that morning; there was a slight lightening of the eastern skies but the inky clouds that carried in from the Bannorn were slowly overtaking Denerim and blocking out any hope the sun had of shining that day.

“’Tis not the most optimistic of forecasts, but at least it is not raining,” Morrigan remarked to no one, glancing out one window as they waited for everyone to gather in the foyer of Eamon’s estate.

They continued to wait in relative silence—Elissa and Alistair sat close on a bench near the main doors while Morrigan perched on her windowsill. Sten paced not far away, his blade Asala displayed proudly on his back. Leliana joined them all a short while later, dragging Oghren by one of the braids in his beard.

“I said I’d aid the Wardens against the Blight, you damned Orlesian wench! Nobody said nothin’ ’bout no Land Meat or whacha call it. I had enough of that succession bullshit in Orzammar!”

“You are coming, dwarf,” the bard stated flatly, releasing his beard and making a face as she tried to wipe away whatever had fallen out of his whiskers and into her hand. “If things go badly today, we will need as many who can fight as we can get.”

“You ain’t makin’ that elf get outta bed!”

Ignoring him, Leliana turned to the two Wardens. “Zevran will not be joining us today, I’m afraid,” she informed them primly. “Arl Eamon has already left for the palace and Bann Teagan will be ready to leave momentarily; as such there was only time to retrieve _this_ fool, rather than them both.”

There was something about Leliana’s manner that troubled Elissa; a strange combination of determination and distress that she had only seen on her friend’s face once before. She was about to take the Orlesian woman aside when she heard Teagan approach from the next room, though, so there was no time.

Everyone rose when Teagan entered, performing final checks that they had anything they might need for the coming day before leaving for the palace. The bann sent one questioning glance Alistair’s way, and when he nodded silently in reply Teagan led the way out into the markets and the rest of the city beyond.

Even though it was a few hours after sunrise, the streets of the city were practically empty. Those citizens priviledged enough to attend the Landsmeet were already waiting in or near the palace, no doubt, and those who remained had largely locked themselves in their homes.

Ser Cauthrien waited at the doors of the palace when they arrived; as they approached she dismissed the few guards who stood with her. In spite of the fact she sent her men away, she still stood firmly between their party and the palace doors.

“You have no right to bar us-”

Elissa strode passed Teagan, laying one hand on his shoulder as she approached Loghain’s lieutenant calmly. “Ser Cauthrien,” she nodded to the other woman. “Have you considered what we discussed?”

“I have had… many doubts, of late,” the knight admitted after averting her eyes. “My lord is a great man, but I fear you are correct. His hatred of Orlais has driven him to madness. He has done terrible things, Lady Elissa. I know this, but I owe him everything. I cannot betray him, do not ask me to!”

“He betrayed his king, Cauthrien, and put every man, woman, and child in Ferelden in danger. The darkspawn are nearly to the northern coast. Regardless of whether Alistair or Anora wins today, I can’t let Loghain remain in power. Help us begin to make things right.”

Ser Cauthrien let her head hang, considering her few options. “What will become of him?” she finally asked, her voice soft.

Elissa knew what Alistair’s first choice would be, but she couldn’t give him a chance to ruin this, not now. “In the short term, that will depend on Loghain himself,” she answered carefully. “If he draws weapons first, my friends and I _will_ defend ourselves. And in the long term… it will be a matter for the Landsmeet. I give you my word that not one of my companions will lay a hand on him if he doesn’t attack us first.”

“I never knew duty could taste so bitter,” the knight sighed as she shook her head. “Very well, my lady. I will help you to stop him before he destroys everything he once loved.”

Turning, Ser Cauthrien led the party into the palace, through its halls and to the throne room where the gathered nobles waited. Hushed murmuring fell to immediate silence as all turned to see as the Wardens followed Cauthrien into the chamber, the others just behind them.

“My lord and ladies of the Landsmeet,” Eamon’s voice rang out as they entered. “Teyrn Loghain would have us give up our freedoms, our traditions, out of fear of a bogeyman that does not exist!”

It had been years since Elissa had attended a Landsmeet, and she’d forgotten how strong a performer Eamon could be. She watched him continue in awe as Teagan and Fergus took their places at his side on one of the balconies.

“…Must we sacrifice everything good about our nation in order to save it?”

A rumble of anger worked its way from one end of the chamber at his question. One thing was certain—the arl knew his audience, and he played it well. Loghain would be using his status as the Hero of River Dane as his primary argument why Anora should remain on the throne with the teyrn as her regent. Eamon seized upon this before he had the opportunity; reminding the nobles present of the freedoms Loghain had helped to win them, freedoms he had already begun to rip from them.

“A fine performance, Eamon,” came a haughty voice at the far end of the hall, and all heads turned immediately toward it. Elissa hadn’t seen Loghain when they entered, and from everyone else’s reaction she assumed no one else had seen him before now, either. “It is a shame that no one here is taken in by it. You would put a puppet on the throne and every soul here knows it. The better question is, ‘Who will pull the strings?’”

Elissa felt every eye in the room turn to Alistair and to her, and she steeled herself. Lady Cousland’s mask was barely able to hide her hate as she glared Loghain’s way.

“And here comes the puppeteer,” the teyrn bowed mockingly. “Tell usk Warden: How _will_ the Orlesians take our nation from us? Will they deign to send their troops, or simply issue their commands through this would-be prince? What did they offer you? How much is the price of Fereldan honor now?”

“You’re delusional if you cannot see that the Blight is the threat here, Loghain—not Orlais!” she replied evenly. “If you hadn’t left Cailan and the Wardens to die in Ostagar, not only would we not be here today, but the darkspawn horde _might_ not be approaching the northern coast as we speak!”

“Some of us are curious, Loghain, about _precisely_ what happened at Ostagar,” Arl Bryland spoke up suddenly. “We’ve heard all sorts of tales from every possible source, including Eamon and Lady Elissa, of course. But it occurs to me that you’ve barely said a word on the matter.”

“These traitors led our king to his death with grandiose tales of griffins and glorious battle!” the teyrn snarled.

Bryland’s eyes narrowed. “Was his majesty not an adult, my lord? Was he unable to separate fantasy from reality?” The arl paused to allow Loghain room to speak, but when the teyrn did not reply he continued on. “And if Cailan was not capable of such discretion, was it not your duty to keep him from the battlefield altogether?”

“You think I should have ordered him to stay? It is no man’s place to give orders to his king, Arl Bryland.”

“You and your daughter have had no problems with that in the past, with both Cailan and Maric.”

Another round of murmurs began at Bryland’s last statement. Voices began to rise angrily, until a short-haired woman in leathers shouted for silence and stepped forward. “I’m more interested in these documents I’ve heard so many whispers about,” Alfstanna stated flatly. “Lady Elissa, I trust you brought them today?”

Elissa nodded to Leliana, who retrieved the papers from a pouch at her hip and began to pass them around the hall. Confusion grew into disgust on most of the noble’s faces as the pages of Loghain’s treaty with the Tevinters spread among them.

“Give me those!” the teyrn growled, shoving aside anyone who wasn’t quick enough to move out of his way as he stormed across the room to retrieve the treaty himself. “Forgeries and lies!” he swore, crumpling the pages and tossing them aside.

Morrigan and Wynne had held back near the main entrance to the chamber, Anora with them, but her voice still rang clearly. “I believe the Wardens have made it clear that they have come here to slander my father and little else.”

“That’s not true.”

Even Elissa barely heard Cauthrien at first, and the knight raised her head to speak again, louder this time. “I said that’s not true. I was there when my lord signed the agreement with the Tevinters. And I was there when he and her majesty plotted to sacrifice Arl Rendon Howe to Lady Cousland’s vengeance. And I… I led my lord’s troops in the battle at Ostagar.”

Loghain stormed toward the knight, grabbing her roughly by the arm. “What do you-”

“I know that you love Ferelden, my lord,” Cauthrien replied sternly, pulling her arm from his grasp. “But you have done it more harm than any other. I will not allow you to threaten it any more than you already have. I stand with the Wardens, as we should have stood with King Cailan in Ostagar.”

Without warning, Loghain backhanded the woman before him, bone crunching under the force of his massive gauntlet. She took the hit as well as she could, but the side of her face was bloody and already bruising when she lifted her gaze to meet his again. “Arl Eamon,” she called up to the gallery where the majority of the nobles looked on, “I believe it is time for the first vote.”

One after the other, the nobles stepped forward. Some, such as Fergus, Teagan, and Arl Bryland were confident, defiant even, in their declarations that they not only sided with the Wardens against the Blight but that they also backed Alistair for the throne. Others were less certain but pledged themselves nonetheless. Only one man spoke out in Anora and Loghain’s favor: Ceorlic of the Southern Bannorn.

One measly vote didn’t matter. Ferelden had spoken. The teyrn’s eyes darkened with rage as he lashed out at the gathered nobles. Desperately he reminded them of the atrocities of the Orlesian occupation; that he alone had delivered Maric the Savior to them alive and well, time and again, during the long rebellion. Finally he realized that every eye on him was filled with one of two emotions, pity or hate. He charged Elissa in his rage, drawing his sword and swinging it downward in an arc aimed straight between her shoulder and throat.

As Lady Cousland dodged the strike, Alistair was there, shielding her as he had from the first ogre she faced the night of her Joining. Loghain retreated momentarily as his guards filed in and surrounded them, and Alistair glanced uncertainly at the surrounding nobles.

“Teyrn Loghain drew steel first, your highness,” Alfstanna assured him coolly, and Elissa suppressed a smug smile when she realized the bann had already drawn her own daggers. “I do not believe any here will fault you or your company for defending yourselves against his attack.”

What happened next could scarcely be called a battle; looking back, Elissa would come to realize it more closely resembled a tavern brawl than anything else. But in the moment she was too busy dodging blades from what seemed every direction as Loghain’s men came at them. There was a dull thud as an arrow sped passed her face and skidded along the stone floor, and swearing she began to work her way through Loghain’s soldiers and up to the gallery to deal with the archers herself.

Lightning and flame and ice crackled through the chamber as the mages did what they could to focus their power on the teyrn’s men without hurting any of the nobles and townsfolk who had scattered to the corners of the room. And somewhere in the melee she could hear Alistair and Loghain. _No_ , she corrected herself silently as she ran through one of her attackers and continued toward the archers. She could sense both Alistair’s presence in general and his rage specifically, and from that she knew he faced Loghain.

Finally, after an eternity, she reached the steps to the gallery above, but before she was halfway to the top there was a woman’s terrified scream from below. Casting her gaze out over the din she saw Loghain’s body standing there, headless and falling as if in slow motion to thick carpets. But that wasn’t the source of the scream.

Cowering in one of the corners of the room with the nobles was Erlina. Everyone around her quickly backed away as the elf cradled a petite body, rocking back and forth in tears as blood pooled around her. When the maid finally lifted her head Elissa saw the golden braids falling out of their elaborate twists, and she saw the impressive collection of arrows embedded in the woman’s chest.

Anora was dead.


	37. What Must Be Done

All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands,  
From the lowest slaves  
To the highest kings.  
Those who bring harm  
Without provocation to the least of His children  
Are hated and accursed by the Maker.  
 _Transfigurations 1:3_

 

It was well after midnight by the time they finally returned to Eamon’s estate and Elissa poured herself into bed. Alistair had promised to be along soon but for now he was still up and speaking with Eamon, and she was left alone with her thoughts, staring blankly at the canopy over their bed.

So much had happened since morning… In spite of all the possible outcomes, this was the one they had expected least. Alistair had won the throne, certainly; that much she never doubted. But the fervor that swirled around Anora’s sudden death spread beyond the palace walls and into the city beyond far too quickly for even Eamon to quiet it. Almost immediately suspicious eyes fell on Elissa and her companions, but any accusations were stifled before they were voiced when Ser Cauthrien found the assassin’s body in a chamber off the upper gallery and confirmed it was one of Loghain’s own men, a nearly empty vial of poison not far away.

Cauthrien’s discovery a whole new set of questions which Elissa intended to investigate in the morning, but she was afraid she already knew the answer to the most important of them. Groaning, she rolled on to her stomach and tried to get comfortable.

So much had happened, and there was so much more to do. A state funeral for Anora. The Blight. Alistair’s coronation. And, Maker willing, a wedding. Considering the circumstances, Elissa had stopped Fergus from publicly announcing her and Alistair’s engagement at the Landsmeet, but they’d made no secret of their relationship. Already some of the nobles were beginning to compare her to Cailan’s mother, Queen Rowan; even if such talk would make her own eventual confirmation as queen simpler, she’d have to have Eamon put a stop to such gossip so soon after Anora’s death. If Morrigan could deliver on her promise to prevent the Archdemon from killing either of them, the announcement could be made after. There was no sense in giving the people hope while there was a chance that it could still be ripped away.

It seemed like an eternity, but after tossing and turning for a while longer she finally managed to doze off, stirring a bit when Alistair came to bed but never quite waking. The next time she woke the sun was peeking through the window and she twisted around to not only reach for Alistair, but to avoid the light as well. When he pulled her close and brushed a bit of hair away from her face she finally yawned and tried to sit up, but he just wrapped his arms around her waist tighter and held her in place.

“We can’t stay in bed forever, you know,” she told him quietly, turning in his grip so she could rest her chin on his chest.

Alistair sighed, still running his fingers through her hair. “Eamon’s making arrangements with the Grand Cleric this morning for Anora’s service, and I convinced him last night to put off my coronation until after we kill the Archdemon.”

“I can’t imagine he liked that idea.”

“Not terribly, no,” he laughed. “But I told him I thought a nice, shiny crown would make me too easy a target for the dragon, and he finally dropped the subject.”

They both fell silent for a little while after that, and Elissa laid her cheek against him again as she traced random little paths across his chest with the tip of one finger. She had almost fallen back to sleep when there was a stern rap on the door and Alistair gave her a quick kiss before getting up to answer it. When she heard him arguing with whomever was there she sat up finally, curious, but couldn’t tell from where she was who he was speaking to or what it was about.

“What’s wrong?”

“Morrigan,” he replied when he finally returned, making a face as he retrieved a change of clothes from one of their packs. “She says she needs to speak with you, _alone_ , right away. I told her to come back after breakfast, and she changed into that wolf form of hers and just sat there, staring at me with her creepy wolf-eyes. She wouldn’t change back into a person until I agreed to leave.”

Elissa chewed at her lip nervously. She knew that Morrigan was here to test her again, and she was beginning to worry what alternatives they might have if she wasn’t with child before it was too late for the witch to perform her ritual. “I’m sorry, love, but you know she doesn’t come to me unless it’s important,” she smiled weakly to him. “I’m sure she won’t take any more time than necessary.”

He didn’t argue any further and leaned over the bed to give her another kiss. “Any requests from the kitchen?” he asked on his way out, and she shook her head.

“No, just whatever’s simplest,” she smiled at him as Morrigan trailed in.

The witch glared at him coldly until the door was finally shut. Once it was however, Elissa climbed out from the blankets and Morrigan began her examination: a hand to her belly, a few whispered words… and then nothing.

Elissa tried to back away instinctively the moment it was obvious that the spell had returned no results, but was trapped by the bed just behind her. Instead of lashing out as she’d expected, though Morrigan just sighed heavily and shook her head. “I will send a tonic before supper tonight. Drink it all before you bed him next.”

The witch met Elissa’s gaze briefly, her eyes unreadable. “I had hoped, when you found that Orlesian Warden in Howe’s estate, that there might be another option; unfortunately I was wrong. This is the last chance, Elissa,” she warned. “If this doesn’t work, I’ll have no choice.”

Morrigan left her shortly afterward, and Elissa retrieved a pair of trousers and a loose blouse to change into. She figured Alistair would have probably been caught by one servant or another insisting that he go meet with Eamon _right away_ , and she’d have some time before he returned, so she tugged on her boots and started for the door.

She tried her best not to let herself think about Morrigan’s last words as she roamed the halls, but she couldn’t help it. In Redcliffe when the witch swore she’d find a way to save them, she had warned Elissa that there could be a price. Now whatever that price was, it seemed likely it would need to be paid, and the Warden dreaded thinking about what Morrigan could possibly ask of her.

Elissa was slipping into a particularly dark mood by the time she approached the small barracks where Eamon’s guards stayed while in Denerim. She could hear dice rattling even from outside, and scowled.

_At least the damned elf isn’t making himself hard to find._

Taking a deep breath to try and calm herself, Elissa pushed open the door to the barracks, marched over to where Zevran sat gloating over his winnings, and proceeded to grab one of his pointed ears and drag him from the room. The elf protested as he was led away, asking that he at least be allowed to collect his coin before being forced to go, but she ignored him as she tossed him through the door and shut it behind them again.

“Clearly I have angered you, my dear lady,” he began, rubbing at his ear she’d been dragging him by, “but I assure you I do not know what I could have done to upset you so.”

“ _Mierda_ ,” Elissa hissed as she led him through the corridors of the estate until they were in the gardens. Once there she checked the area as closely as possible; satisfied that they were alone, she stormed back to where the elf waited patiently, if confused. Without breaking stride, she grabbed each of his shoulders and shoved her knee into his groin.

“ _¡Nuestra Señora Redentora!_ ”

Kneeling so that she was level with his face, Elissa smiled her sweetest, coldest smile. “Zevran dear, I’m going to ask you just once, and I’d _really_ appreciate it if you told me the truth. Where were you yesterday, when you didn’t come with us to the palace?”

The Antivan shifted his weight so he was sitting a bit more comfortably and studied her for a while before answering. “I wonder, why do you ask questions when you already have the answers, hm?”

“Andraste’s ass,” she swore as she stood and walked a few paces away. “Why, Zevran? What in the Void made you do something like this without consulting me first?”

“Aside from the fact that it was well deserved, you mean? It was something that had to be done, and I knew that you would not approve.”

“You had that much right, at least,” Elissa muttered, collapsing onto a nearby bench and rubbing her temples wearily. “There was no way Loghain was going to walk out of the Landsmeet, not as mad as he’d become, but we needed Anora alive. Alistair and I were going to find someplace safe to keep her, just in case the worst happened before the Blight’s over.”

The elf clucked his tongue at her and shook his head. “Do you not realize that your so-called worst is exactly what would be happening, had she lived? It might not have been today, or tomorrow, but surely, before your Alistair was crowned, you would both be dead, Blight or no.”

Elissa lifted her head to stare at Zevran, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You and her majesty were not exactly discrete in your argument the day before; neither was she as discrete as she might normally have been when she sent that Orlesian maid of hers to her father that night.”

“That first arrow…” Elissa whispered, realization dawning on her. It wasn’t a random shot, or even an almost-lucky one; it was meant for her all along.

“ _Sí_ ,” he replied, standing. “Your apology is accepted, naturally. If there is nothing else you desire of me, dear Warden, I have a game to return to.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m _not_ wearing that,” Elissa stated as she pointed accusingly at the silk gown that was delivered to her room by a young Chantry sister late that evening. “And I specifically told the Grand Cleric as much when she was here this afternoon.”

The girl faltered, glancing briefly at the dress itself before speaking. “But her Grace says you’re to wear it to Queen Anora’s funeral tomorrow, my lady. She says you’re not to wear black, that-”

“I know exactly why she wants me to wear white,” she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I take it she told you everything, then?”

The sister blushed, fiddling with her skirt as she stared intently at the floor. “That you and his highness are betrothed? She did, my lady, but it’s not as if the whole city hasn’t guessed as much already—either that you already were, or would be soon. A queen wears white in a time of mourning, my lady.”

“I understand that, but I’m not queen yet,” Elissa explained as patiently as possible. “I know that her Grace wants to use me as an image of hope for the future, and I know what half the city is whispering about me—that I’m Rowan reborn, come to save them all, and all of that nonsense. Alistair and I aren’t Maric and Rowan, though; they only fought Orlesians. We’re facing an archdemon and the entire darkspawn horde.”

“All the more reason to be a light amongst the darkness,” the girl insisted with a stubborn frown.

She knew it was stupid—the girl was just doing as she was told—but Elissa found her temper rising. “No, all the more reason not to give false hope to a nation that is already suffering.”

The sister’s patience was obviously growing just as thin, and neither of the two young women seemed as if they were going to back down from the other’s challenge.

“Well, good luck finding anything black in the arlessa’s wardrobes,” the initiate finally snapped in frustration. “Lady Isolde doesn’t visit Denerim often, my lady, but not once since I’ve been with the chantry here have I seen her wear the color. And don’t try to get a dressmaker at the last minute, either; one word from the Grand Cleric and not a single one in the city will see you until she says otherwise.”

Elissa stood dumbstruck at the initiate’s sudden change as the girl returned to the pack she had brought with her to retrieve the ribbons to match the gown, and the black half cloak and slippers and set them on the dresser nearest to the wardrobe.

“The black ribbons go about your waist as a belt, and the white ones in your hair,” the sister instructed as she finished and made her way to the door. “Her Grace _prefers_ the cloak be worn open so not to obscure your gown, but she understands that the ceremony will be quite early in the morning and that it might be a bit chilly.”

After giving a small curtsy, the initiate left and Elissa was alone. Sighing, she crossed to the wardrobe and let her fingers run over the fabric of the gown. It really was a beautiful dress, with sleeves that tapered almost down to its hem and a neckline that was modest without being constricting. In spite of its simplicity though, it was every bit worthy of a queen—exactly the image she had wanted to avoid until after Urthemiel lay dead.

There was a timid knock at the door and she called absently for whomever it was to come in; one of the servants hurried in with a small package, pressing it into her hands before curtsying and turning to go again. Elissa didn’t have to wonder at the contents, as she unwrapped the plain paper to reveal a small vial filled with a thin yellow-green liquid.

Elissa hesitated and glanced at the door; Alistair would be back soon from meeting with Fergus after supper, and she didn’t want to have to explain why she was taking medicines if he came back and found Morrigan’s tonic.

_If this doesn’t work, I’ll have no choice._

There could be no other options. Unstopping the vial, Elissa emptied it in a single swallow; an aftertaste of cedar and mint and exotic fruits lingered on her tongue. It was surprisingly refreshing, but after hiding away the empty vial she found it only made her nerves worse. She paced the room, agitated, wondering where in the name of the Void Alistair could be and what could be taking him so long.

Nearly an hour passed.

Ever since drinking the tonic Elissa had felt like she was going to burn up, and had discarded her boots, belt, and every other bit of constricting _nonsense_ while she waited. Now she fidgeted by the open window, barefoot and with her blouse half-unlaced, and _still_ Alistair wasn’t back yet. She had considered going to find him, but that would require pants and she was certain that even the loosest pair she could find would leave her feeling smothered.

Finally the latch on the door turned, and smiling she turned to see Alistair locking the door behind him. When he finally noticed her he gave her an amused look. “Get a little warm, did we?”

“Something like that,” she smirked, sliding her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a deep kiss. When she felt his lips grin against hers she pulled back momentarily. “What’s that look for?” she asked him, and the grin widened.

“Just that if I’d known you were waiting I might have come up sooner.”

Elissa returned his grin and hitched one leg up and around his waist, lifting herself to his level to kiss him again. Alistair slipped one arm under her hips while the other slid up her back under the linen of her blouse, tugging at the ties of her bandeau and dropping the slip of fabric absently.

She tried to reach for his shirt, but her legs were too tight around him and she reluctantly dropped her feet back to the floor. She backed toward the bed, pulling him along, and he shed his trousers on the way as Elissa tugged the shirt over his head. Alistair snatched her up suddenly and she wrapped her legs around his waist again for balance. The tips of his fingers ghosted against her smalls as he held her and shivers ran up her spine as she pressed her mouth to his again and he sat against the edge of the bed.

It wasn’t enough. She rocked her hips against him before lifting them slightly, removing her blouse as he slid her smalls down her thighs and shifting her weight until she was free of them. Forcing Alistair onto his back Elissa kissed and nipped a trail along his chest, first down near his navel and before returning to his lips. When he pressed up into her suddenly she gasped, back arched, before settling into their rhythm as she rode him to their combined release.

 

* * *

 

The streets of Denerim were filled with the verses of the Chant shortly after sunrise, as Queen Anora’s funeral procession made its way slowly through the city from the palace to the chantry courtyard.

Elissa felt more self-conscious than she ever had her entire life as she and Alistair followed behind the platform carrying Anora’s body. She was wearing the gown provided by the Grand Cleric and everyone who had gathered—both the nobles and commoners alike—stared at her as they passed. Her head held high and the short train of the gown spreading behind her, she gave them what they expected. What everyone assured her was needed now, rather than later.

Lady Cousland—and Morrigan, though she hadn’t come along this morning—was the only one who knew the truth, who understood how much worse the despair would be if the witch couldn’t deliver her miracle before the time came to face the Archdemon.

Too many people had gathered to see off the late queen to fit into the chantry itself, so the sermon was delivered from its steps, the Grand Cleric’s voice carrying out over the throngs that had massed in the nearby market square.

_Many are those who wander in sin,  
Despairing that they are lost forever,  
But the one who repents, who has faith  
Unshaken by the darkness of the world,  
And boasts not, nor gloats  
Over the misfortunes of the weak, but takes delight  
In the Maker's law and creations, she shall know  
The peace of the Maker's benediction.  
The Light shall lead her safely  
Through the paths of this world, and into the next.  
For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.  
As the moth sees light and goes toward flame,  
She should see fire and go towards Light.  
The Veil holds no uncertainty for her,  
And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker  
Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword._

The Grand Cleric fell silent for several long moments after finishing the verse, studying the crowd before her. When the priestess’s eyes met Elissa’s there was a silent question there; after hesitating only a second, Lady Cousland nodded just slightly.

“Today we commend the spirit of our beloved Queen Anora to the Maker, that she might find the peace that she could not know in life. I know that the loss of our queen has filled much of the city with a great sadness. But as many of you already know, the Landsmeet has confirmed the Grey Warden Alistair Theirin as Maric’s—and Cailan’s—rightful heir.”

“No king can rule indefinitely without a queen, however; as such I have spoken to not only His Highness but to Teyrn Fergus Cousland. I believe the Teyrn’s sister, the Grey Warden Lady Elissa Cousland, is the most qualified candidate to assume the queen’s own crown. Their union carries my blessing, and while they will not be formally wed until after they have jointly freed us from this Blight, her ladyship was gracious enough grant my request that she preemptively assume the responsibilities of her future station. She stands here before you today, a shining beacon of everything that Ferelden is, and everything that it can and will continue to be.”


	38. Promise Kept

  
_Foul and corrupt are you_   
_Who have taken My gift_   
_And turned it against My children._   
_-Transfigurations 18:10_   


 

“The most recent of the letters from Redcliffe report that the last of the Dalish have arrived and are camped on the shore of Lake Calenhad, Lady Elissa, and that the final company of dwarves should be ready in the next three days.”

Elissa nodded absently, not really listening as Eamon made his report when she and Alistair met with him the morning after the funeral. The smoke from Anora’s pyre still lingered over the city, held far too close to the ground by the blighted clouds overhead, and the smell combined with the incessant noise of the darkspawn horde was making it impossible for her to concentrate.

They were in a field of ice, the horde spreading before and behind Them for as far as Their eyes could see. The skies above Them churned, inky clouds twisting on themselves, forever in motion and yet completely stationary.

“Riordan left before sundown yesterday, and will begin to organize your troops for the march here.”

They bellowed a command to the thralls before Them, urging them forward faster; the Wardens’ army would be ready to strike soon, and it was desperately important that They found and destroyed the she-wolf before she had another opportunity to hunt Them.

Alistair frowned. “Wouldn’t it be better to set up a staging area somewhere near Lothering? The army can move from there to pretty much anywhere in the Bannorn with little to no notice, and it doesn’t leave everything between here and Ostagar unprotected.”

The ice chilled Them, but from somewhere deep within came the memory of warm, dusty breezes that tickled Their snout. They remembered summer, and even if there were no other reason for Them to go north, that memory would have been enough. They would go north into the summer, and beyond to Their homeland. But first there was the she-wolf, and They would have to deal with her.

“The vast majority of the Bannorn has already fallen, Alistair. Near everyone who was able has left their homes and has taken refuge on the coast or here in the capital. We need to defend those who have managed to escape to Denerim; once it’s all done, then people can return to their homes.”

How could she be lured to a place of Their choosing? What would the she-wolf fight to defend? Her city wrapped in summer, certainly, but it  was dangerous for Them to approach any city or fort while she held it. But the fortress by the lake… certainly she would come for Them there, and if They captured it before she arrived, They would have the advantage.

“We have to keep the armies at Redcliffe.”

“What?” The question came from both Alistair and Eamon together, and lifting her gaze Elissa found both men staring at her in confusion.

She wet her lips nervously, trying to decide how to explain. “Urthemiel is still somewhere deep in the ice fields south of the Wilds, and the horde that’s with him dwarfs everything we’ve seen so far—it’s large enough by far to cover both Ferelden and Orlais, before it turns north again to Nevarra and beyond.”

“Warden Riordan assured us that Denerim would be the dragon’s first major target, Lady Elissa,” Eamon reminded her stiffly.

“Well then it lied to him!” she snapped, her temper flaring. “Because while it will come here to Denerim, it’s going to Redcliffe first.”

She could feel Alistair watching her, trying to determine what the best answer would be. “How long do we have before it gets there?” he finally asked quietly.

“I’m not certain,” she admitted. “Long enough that we can get there ahead of it if we move quickly enough, but not enough time to get any troops from here in Denerim in position. We’ll have to rely on the forces already there to defend the city.”

“That decides it, then,” he nodded. “We’ll get Wynne to send a message to the mages there, and they can update Riordan when he arrives. And if we can be off by the end of the day, we should be able to get to Redcliffe just behind him.”

Elissa saw Eamon scowl at the decision. “It’s your home, Eamon,” she reminded him. “Or would you rather we leave Isolde and Connor to their fate?”

“I’ll have supplies gathered for you, then,” he finally agreed. “You’ll need enough for all your companions, I assume?”

Her face fell as she considered this, not wanting to admit out loud what she already knew had to be done. “No,” she whispered. “Just for the two of us. I’ll speak to everyone before we go, but they’ll all be staying here, just in case.”

  
  
  


She paced back and forth in the antechamber to the hall where Eamon met with guests in his Denerim estate, waiting for Alistair to let her know all their friends were gathered and waiting. They’d quietly packed the few belongings they’d be carrying with them after leaving Eamon that morning and had changed into their armor; now all that remained was to say goodbye to those who had followed her for nearly a year now—those she now was leaving behind.

“Lissa, love, everyone’s waiting,” Alistair interrupted her thoughts, and she nodded as she followed him to the main hall.

Their friends had been chatting quietly before she entered, but everyone fell silent when they saw her face. They knew. Elissa scanned each of their faces, trying to memorize every inch as tears welled up in her eyes. Leliana took a half-step forward to comfort her, but the Warden held up one hand to stop her. When she spoke, however, her voice was strong and clear.

“The Archdemon is marching on Redcliffe as we speak. Alistair and I have to leave tonight to get there before it does.”

A chorus of questions interrupted her, and Elissa squeezed her eyes shut to keep from crying. They would make this difficult… She didn’t open her eyes until she felt Moira’s nose nudging at one hand; absently she scratched at the hound’s ears.

“I want to thank all of you for everything you’ve done for me… for us,” she continued. “Alistair and I couldn’t have made it to this point on our own, but we need you all to stay here, now, in Denerim. If anything should happen to us in Redcliffe, this is where the horde will come next, and I need to know the city’s defended until the Orlesian Wardens can get here.”

Another round of questions, this time mixed with objections. Alistair tried to quiet everyone, but they continued on, assaulting her until Sten stepped forward. “What would you have us do, kadan?” he asked quietly, bowing deep, and the others all shushed as he did so.

“Sten, I need you and Oghren to work with the troops here the way you did in Redcliffe,” she began. “Most of them were at Ostagar, but were forced to retreat before facing any of the darkspawn, so they don’t have much in the way of experience with this. You’ll also be in charge of the army while we’re away, so you’ll need to work closely with Eamon in the meantime and see to it that he, Teagan, Fergus—all of the nobles—are someplace safe long before any fighting begins.”

“Ataash varin kata, kadan,” he nodded, stepping back among the others.

Elissa smiled sadly at his words; she knew Alistair didn’t speak Qunari but the translation—in the end lies glory—was very much like the Grey Warden motto she’d learned from Duncan so many months ago while escaping to Ostagar.

She turned her attention back to the others. “Wynne and Morrigan: if the battle comes here after all, I want you to work on setting up a hospice for both the army and any civilians that end up caught in the mess. And keep Moira with you; I don’t want her getting hurt when we face the Archdemon in Redcliffe.”

The mabari whined at her side, but Elissa shooed the dog away. “Morrigan’s your mistress now, so go!” Whining again, Moira licked at her hand just once before slinking off to Morrigan’s side. The witch knelt down, scratching the hound’s ears and murmuring some sort of comfort to her, and Elissa couldn’t stop her tears any longer.

“Lil, Zev,” she continued finally, “I want you to help Sten as well, but instead of the royal army focus on the Alienage, as well as any other civilians that might come your way. Don’t force anyone to fight, but those who are willing need to be properly armed and trained, and those who are unable to fight need to be moved someplace where they’ll be safe.”

Zevran sighed and nodded, but Leliana rushed forward and hugged her tight, the bard’s shoulders shaking as she cried. “You have been the dearest friend I’ve ever known, my lady,” she sniffed after a while, wiping the tears from her face. “And I will pray to the Maker that you return safely to us—the both of you.”

Elissa pulled her friend close for another hug. “Une fois que nous serons partis, vérifiez ma garde-robe,” she whispered in the bard’s ear. “Il ya une lettre avec des instructions plus là-bas.” This was something she hadn’t told Alistair, and stealing a glance in his direction she saw him busy talking to Sten. The note she’d left behind detailed everything she knew about the Archdemon and the darkspawn, things Elissa wasn’t certain she could trust Morrigan to share if and when the time came. It also contained one instruction that Elissa considered important above all others, just in case they all met again before this was over.

Do not let him stop me.

  
  
  


Elissa and Alistair pushed their horses as hard as they dared as they raced away from Denerim, and that night and much of the next day was a blur of highway and forest. They slowed only when they had no other choice, so that they could make their way around the bands of darkspawn scattered about.

They made it nearly to South Reach by dusk that first full day, and as they rubbed down the horses Elissa felt eyes on them from above. Scanning the sky as well as she could in the failing light, she noticed a movement against the clouds. She’d half expected this, but swore under her breath regardless.

“We have company,” she explained when Alistair gave her a curious look, pointing skyward, and as he did the raven above them began to spiral downward. The bird settled itself on a large rock nearby, and after shimmering slightly Morrigan sat in its place.

“I certainly hope you didn’t seriously expect me to remain with that old hag, after all this time,” the witch commented idly. “I may not have had much choice in the matter at the time but the three of us started this together, and I expect to be there to see the end of it.”

Elissa turned back to finish working the knots out of her horse’s muscles, not trusting herself to answer. She knew why the witch had followed them. Glancing back again, she saw Morrigan settle down to sleep while the horses rested.

“You should get some sleep too, love,” she heard from just behind her, and she leaned back into Alistair when he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“I’d rather not,” she replied with a wry smile. “With sleep comes more dreams of the Archdemon, and I’d rather not have him rattling about in my head just now.”

“I was wondering about that, actually,” he admitted. “You never did explain why he’s going to Redcliffe, instead of Denerim.”

Sighing, she rubbed wearily at her eyes. “Because he knows we’ll defend it mostly,” she shrugged. “But also because he seems to believe that where ever he attacks, if he can’t establish some sort of presence there before we arrive, he can’t win.”

Alistair groaned. “So you mean we’re walking into a trap?”

“Only if we don’t get there first.”

Still grumbling to himself, he kissed her hair. “Go get some rest,” he told her finally. “I’ll finish with the horses and wake you up in a few hours.”

She reluctantly agreed, and leaned back against a fallen log to nap. The sounds of the horde to the south were distracting at best, but she eventually dozed off nonetheless.

It was still quite dark when Elissa began to stir. She could feel Alistair asleep just behind her, and she scratched Moira absently behind the ear as she sat up groggily. Several long moments passed before she remembered that she’d left the hound behind in Denerim, and the Warden stared in confusion while the dog licked her face chin to hairline in a slobbery canine kiss.

“Did you truly expect her to remain behind?” Morrigan asked quietly, sounding slightly amused. “You have no idea how long it took me to explain why you left her with me. Once she understood, however, I gave her a choice: stay and help Wynne, or come with me to find you.”

“It’s not safe for you in Redcliffe,” Elissa scolded the mabari, and the dog just cocked her head to one side.

Sighing, Elissa stood and stretched. She’d let Alistair get another hour or so of sleep, but they’d need to be moving again soon. She wanted to make it to at least Lothering before stopping again, and even though there was no moon or stars to tell the time or which direction was which, navigating wouldn’t be a problem. The songs of the Archdemon and the horde gave her enough of a reference point to know which way she was going.

  
  
  


Elissa pulled her horse up short late the next night as they approached the ruins of Lothering. Any time they’d passed the village in the past months she’d made certain to give the ruins a wide berth, unwilling to see the destruction there. But they needed to stop and rest the horses, and while she was afraid of what she’d find, she felt obligated to see it now.

“Not quite as picturesque as before,” Alistair commented as he brought his horse alongside hers. “At least some of the buildings are still standing, though; we should be able to find shelter for tonight.”

She nodded and made a distracted little noise of agreement. They dismounted and led their horses through what remained of the village’s streets, around the rotting remains of residents and refugees alike.

Morrigan flitted down and landed on Elissa’s saddle as they stopped in front of one house in particular and changed back into her usual form. “’Tis the same home you visited before, is it not?”

Not trusting herself to answer, Elissa tied off her horse and inched open the door leading inward from the small garden to one side of the house. Leandra’s kitchen was as immaculate as when she’d been here the previous autumn, and to her unspeakable relief, the smell of death that permeated the rest of the village didn’t extend into the home.

“Lissa, whose house is this?”

“A friend of Leliana’s and… of my mother’s apparently, though that was before I was born,” she replied softly. Elissa brushed her fingers along the worn table while Alistair and Morrigan trailed in behind her. “It was Leandra and her daughter who provided all of our supplies when we left here last. I just… I was hoping to find some proof they made it out safely.”

“Such as a letter?” Morrigan asked idly, and when Elissa turned to her she saw the rough paper between the witch’s fingers. Snatching the note from Morrigan greedily, she saw her name written on the outside of the note in the post delicate penmanship she’d ever seen.

 

Lady Elissa,

 

Mother explained everything to me once you left, and I can’t even begin to express how sorry I am for your loss. Ria and Carver returned just last night, and we’re leaving now for Denerim. Mother has family in Kirkwall, so we’ll get a ship and go there from the capital, but I didn’t feel right about leaving without leaving some message behind for you. With everything you’re doing for us—for all of us, even though most people have no idea—the least I can do is let you know how much we appreciate you. I’ll try to write again when we reach Kirkwall, to let you know we’re safe. Mother says that her friend Miriam is going to Redcliffe when she leaves here; I’ll send it to her and hopefully she can get the Revered Mother there to deliver the letter to the Arl and on to you afterward.

 

Thank you again for everything, messere.

 

Bethany

 

Elissa breathed a sigh of relief as she refolded the paper and tucked it away in a pocket. “It’s not likely they left anything behind that we can use, but we’ll stay here tonight and go on again tomorrow. It sounds like they got out of Lothering safely, and that’s enough for me.”

  
  
  


Day and night had become nearly indistinguishable by the time they left Lothering, but the road was deserted and their horses practically flew as they raced toward Redcliffe. It couldn’t have been later than noon when the castle came into view in the distance, but Elissa jerked back on her horse’s reins in alarm. The din from the battle in and around the town below was deafening, even here, but what struck her wasn’t the noise.

They were in the forest. Mountains loomed west of Them, and the vast expanse of the sea stretched as far to the east as They could see. It occurred to Them that They had never crossed the eastern sea. After returning to Their homeland, They would investigate this further.

A smug sense of knowing settled itself in the back of Elissa’s mind, even as dread pooled in her stomach. They became He as all pretenses otherwise fell by the wayside.

Come to realize your folly, she-wolf? To think that time would be wasted on such a hovel… Race to save your people, bitch, and when you are ready I will be waiting in your city. The fires of your buildings will warm me while I wait, and the flesh of your companions will fill my belly. Hurry now, bitch. Before I run out of cities to destroy.

  
  
  


The only thing Elissa remembered of the next several hours was the heat of flames as Redcliffe burned, followed by soaking rain when the clouds above them finally burst in a sudden summer thunderstorm. The attacking darkspawn had been driven back, however, and the rain was now doing its part to quell the fires.

She and Alistair stood in one of the castle’s guest rooms waiting for Riordan, the both of them dripping pools of water and blood from the battle. Alistair’s gear was still more or less intact, but the ironbark scales Elissa received from Lanaya had been ripped beyond any chance of repair. One sleeve and over half of one leg of the armor had been ripped away entirely; angry scars marked the damage she’d taken, originally deep gashes but now healed by mages from the Circle.

“Lissa, there’s no way you could have known,” Alistair told her for the third time since they’d been waiting. For the third time she refused to answer—refused to even look at him—as she stared out the window to the gradually-declining chaos below. “It’s obvious the Archdemon didn’t know you could hear it in the Deep Roads. It probably still didn’t know during that dream you said you had before we returned to Orzammar at the very least. Who knows how many other snippets of thought you picked up on before he realized you were in his head?”

“Just how many dreams and snippets are we talking about?”

Neither Elissa nor Alistair had heard the Senior Warden enter the room, and both jumped slightly at the sound of his voice. She faltered, uncertain where to even begin, and sighed slightly in relief when Alistair answered for her.

“Elissa was especially sensitive when we went into the Deep Roads last month, Riordan,” he explained. “I’d only seen it happen to one other person before, but for the most part it seemed the same—the ability to see in the caves as if it was daylight, the increased awareness, and so on.”

Riordan studied her quietly for a long moment before replying. “The ‘increased awareness’ of a new Warden subjected to the Deep Roads has never before included overhearing the horde in the way you are implying.”

“I… started to hear them almost the moment we entered Orzammar,” she confessed finally. “Then, once we were in the caverns, the songs… separated. The horde was still there, going on and on like drums in the deep, but there was something new as well, and absolutely beautiful. It sang, and the horde answered. And then we were in Bownammar, and Urthemiel was there on the great bridge across the chasm. What else was I supposed to do?”

The Orlesian Warden’s eyes widened as the implication sank in. “Lady Elissa… Alistair… you are both still relatively new to the Wardens,” he began carefully. “Were you told what it takes to kill an archdemon?”

“You mean there’s more to it than just, say, chopping off its head?”

Riordan shook his head sadly at Alistair’s quip. “So it is true. Duncan had not yet told you. I had simply assumed… Tell me, have you ever wondered why the Grey Wardens are needed to defeat the darkspawn?”

“It’s… something to do with the taint in us,” she answered carefully, toeing at the floor with one boot and not meeting either man’s gaze.

“It is indeed that,” he confirmed. “An archdemon may be slain as any other darkspawn, but should any other than a Grey Warden do the slaying, it will not be enough. The essence of the beast will pass through the taint to the nearest darkspawn and will be reborn anew in that body. The dragon is thus all but immortal. But if the Archdemon is slain by a Grey Warden… its essence travels into that Warden, instead.”

Riordan paused, letting them take in his words. “A darkspawn is an empty, soulless vessel,” he continued, “but a Grey Warden is not. The essence of the Archdemon is destroyed… and so is the Grey Warden.”

“Meaning… the Grey Warden who kills the Archdemon dies.” Alistair’s words weren’t a question so much as an accusation. Elissa returned to the window, staring out silently. She should have told Alistair this months ago; now that he knew, though, she realized how much harder it was going to be to keep him from stopping her when the time finally came.

“Yes. But without the Archdemon, the Blight ends. It is the only way. It is up to us to end this, but in Blights past, when the time came the eldest of the Wardens would decide which amongst them would take that final blow. If it is at all possible, the attack will be mine to make. I am the eldest, and the taint will not spare me much longer. But if I fail-”

“I’ll handle it,” she insisted from where she stood. She could sense Alistair ready to argue with her, but Riordan must have given him some look that said for him to keep quiet, and her declaration hung there between the three of them for several long moments.

Eventually she turned back to them from the window. “Riordan, Urthemiel is what, two days from the capital?”

“The horde is, my lady, yes. But the dragon could reach it in just a few hours if it were to go ahead on its own.”

“Then we’ll have to leave first thing in the morning. Can the army move that quickly?”

Riordan considered this. “It will be difficult, but I believe we can get it mustered quickly enough, yes. It will still take sometime to march the army all the way to Denerim, however—a week at the least—and I believe it would be safer for the two of you to stay with it the whole way. It is entirely possible that the Archdemon will send assassins after the three of us, and we cannot take the risk of any of us falling before facing the dragon itself.”

Elissa nodded, and then noticed the condition of her armor. “I’ll go find Valena while you prepare everyone to move, then. She should be able to find something I can use in her father’s shop.”

“No need, my lady. My men in Jader paid a caravan to deliver supplies here, including equipment. One of the girls here in the castle claimed a number of pieces; when I questioned her she explained that she was your maid. I believe she had a collection of leathers and robes delivered to your rooms already.”

Allowing herself a brief smile, Elissa wondered what it would take to steal Valena away from Isolde permanently, assuming they survived the coming battle. She’d deliberately never allowed herself a handmaiden at home in Highever, but having one who knew her way around an armory as well as she did a wardrobe had definitely proven useful. “I’ll go see what she found right away, then.”

She and Alistair made their way to the door, when Riordan called after her again. Swallowing nervously, she squeezed Alistair’s hand and promised to be along shortly. Shutting the door behind him, she returned to the Senior Warden.

“What is it?” He was still her superior, and she still knew she should be deferring to him, but the way he kept stressing her title always ended up invoking Lady Cousland.

“I get the distinct impression, my lady, that none of what I said tonight was a surprise to you. How did you learn the truth, when even Alistair did not know?”

“Duncan told me, before we even reached Ostagar, that no Warden had ever survived an encounter with an archdemon. He didn’t give me any of the details, but I’ve always known that someone would die. Then later, Morrigan came to me about the same thing.”

“Your witch?”

Elissa nodded. “She claims that she found the truth in one of her mother’s grimoires. I don’t know if that’s true, or if she’s always known, but what you said tonight confirms everything she said about the dragon’s soul destroying, and being destroyed by, a Warden’s soul.”

Riordan considered this, and nodded to himself. If he was curious at all about Morrigan and her mother, though, he didn’t mention it. “Very well. You are prepared then to take the final blow, if I am unable?”

“I am,” she confirmed. “And I’ve done what I can to be certain Alistair won’t be able to stop me this time, as well.”

“Good. Go see to your new armor, then, and get some rest. The coming week will be quite busy indeed.”

He bowed deep, and Elissa nodded in acknowledgement before letting herself out. “Alistair seemed quite distressed when he left some time ago. I presume your Senior Warden has fully explained the situation to him, then?”

Elissa startled slightly, not expecting to find the witch waiting for her, and then nodded with a small sigh as they continued down the corridor together. “Yes, Riordan told him. He knows everything, and now I’ve got to find a way to keep him from doing everything he can to sacrifice himself in my place.”

“I rather doubt this Riordan told Alistair everything, Elissa.”

“You mean your ritual?” she asked softly, not wanting to be overheard. “I’ve tried everything, including your potions. Alistair and I have been, well, together for what, six months now? If I’m not pregnant by now, I’m not going to be in time for the battle, and I might not be ever. Even if we could both survive, not providing an heir is going to cause enough problems in the future.”

They reached the door to Morrigan’s room, and the witch gently tugged on Elissa’s elbow to indicate that she should follow. Once they were in Morrigan sealed the door and then walked to the hearth. “I said once, long ago,” she began, her back to Elissa, “that I might be forced to request something of you that you would not be willing to grant me. And I begged you then, and I beg you now, do not allow your emotions to interfere with reason.”

“Morrigan, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying the same thing I did when I first mentioned the ritual months ago. I am certain I can perform this ritual on myself. The attempt to transfer it to you was a kindness I was offering, out of friendship and as repayment for eliminating Flemeth at my request. But it was never a guaranteed result. What is guaranteed is that the child must have at least one Grey Warden parent in order for the ritual to be effective, and Riordan is too close to his Calling to be of use to me.”

Elissa sank to the floor. “You’re saying… you want me to have Alistair…” Feeling sick, she glanced briefly up at the witch. Morrigan’s back was still turned, but the witch’s head hung a bit. “What about the child? You never said what purpose carrying a child served.”

“The child acts as both a beacon and a shield. Regardless of whether Alistair fathers it, or if you had conceived a child with another, the ritual will work because the child would bear the same taint that you do.” Morrigan paused, turning to face Elissa. “The Archdemon's soul will be pulled to the child rather than to any present Grey Wardens, but because the child’s development is incomplete, the Archdemon's soul can reside in the child without killing it, as it would kill you or Alistair.”

“You’re saying you want to create a darkspawn child?” Elissa choked on the thought that she had willingly participated in this plot without knowing the full detail--without knowing that she could be carrying a monster if it had worked.

“I said no such thing,” Morrigan countered. “The child would be born as any other, except that it would have the soul of the Old God rather than a human soul. My mother sent me with you to see that this child be born, and even with her eliminated I have no intent to abandon my assignment. The only difference is that I will control the child’s development, rather than Flemeth pulling our strings like the puppets she believed us to be. And you need not worry about further interference from us, once all is complete. You will not see me again following the battle, and neither the child nor I will ever bother you or Alistair in the future.”

After staring at the floor again for a while longer, Elissa collected herself as well as she could and stood. “If I agree,” she began, voice quavering but her gaze steady, “and can make him agree, can you make sure I don’t remember tonight ever happened?”

“I do not see why that would not work. Certain spells can influence dreams, and if a dream is strong enough you will likely believe memories to be dreams and dreams to be memories.”

“And can you do the same for Alistair? I want to be able to offer him the same opportunity I’m going to take, to not remember. It may help me convince him to agree.”

Morrigan thought for a moment. “It will be more difficult, considering that not only will he be a participant, but that his Templar training might shield his mind from the spells. But I will attempt it, for your sake if not for his.”

“I’ll ask him, then,” Elissa promised as she fought back her tears, even though her shoulders were square and her back straight. “I… I don’t know if I can convince him, though. I have to tell him what will happen, why he would be doing this, and he’s not going to like the answer.”

“Should we let him believe that I am you, then? I’ve never taken another human form; there has never in the past been a reason to try. But if you think it will be easier, I can attempt it.”

The thought was disgustingly tempting, Elissa was ashamed to admit. “No. At least, not as a trick. He’ll agree or he won’t, and if he agrees and that makes it easier for him, well…” Elissa still felt sick, and continuing to talk about this was just making everything worse. “If he agrees, and then allows himself to be tricked into thinking it’s me he’s with, that’s his choice. But regardless, he should still get the option to forget. Promise me you’ll make sure I do, and that you’ll do everything you can to see to it that he does as well.”

“You have my word, Elissa. I swear, do this one thing for me and I will personally see that no harm will come to either of you when you face the archdemon in battle.”

“Then I’ll go talk to him.”

Leaving the room without any further discussion, Elissa numbly walked the rest of the way down the corridor to the rooms she shared with Alistair. She was shaking, she realized as she reached for the door knob, so instead she took a moment to try and steel herself. Alistair had always been the exception to the mask she wore to protect herself, but for the first time in months she forced herself not to be Elissa but Lady Cousland instead when she faced him. Elissa could not ask the man she loved to be with another woman, but Lady Cousland could do this. She could give an unpleasant order to someone under her command. And, by his own default to her, Alistair was technically under her command. She could do this.

Lady Cousland entered her chambers with her head high. The moment she saw Alistair working to pack the gear they’d be carrying to Denerim and put away the items to be left here, however, she faltered. She had to do this, but how?

“There you are, love,” Alistair greeted her, pausing only briefly to kiss her forehead. “Valena brought by whole bundles of equipment from Riordan’s shipment for you to look through just a little while ago. And since there’s not much else going on now, I figured I’d go ahead and take care of as much of our things as I could.”

“Alistair, I… Just put those down for now, they can wait,” she blurted after a moment.

He looked back up from his task immediately at her tone. “Lissa, what’s wrong?”

“Sit down.”

He did so, clearing away a spot for her to sit as well. Smiling weakly as she accepted the place offered, she fidgeted and traced the red scars on her leg where her armor was torn away in the battle earlier that night.

“I… I have a confession to make, Alistair.” She began once he was settled. Knowing he was about to start asking questions, she held up one hand and continued on before he could. “Everything Riordan told us tonight, about the Archdemon’s soul and that a Grey Warden is supposed to die to kill it, I’ve known it all for months now. And you should have known, too, but I chose not to tell you.”

He didn’t reply for quite a while. “But how did you find out?” he asked finally. “No one with the Grey Wardens, not even Duncan, ever told me before now. Was it because of how you see what the Archdemon sees through your nightmares?”

Elissa shook her head. “No, and I’m sorry. It was Morrigan who told me, after Flemeth and Orzammar and everything, before we left for the Landsmeet. Her mother told her at some point before sending her along with us last autumn, and she decided I should know.”

“Why though?”

Her lip shook, and the last traces of her facade collapsed. “Because she has a way to prevent anyone from dying when we face Urthemiel, and she thought she could help me--help us, though she’d never admit it--conceive an heir in spite of being tainted.”

Alistair frowned. “What does one have to do with the other? Not dying and having an heir?”

“Morrigan says that if a woman carrying an unborn, tainted child is present when the archdemon dies, the taint in the child absorbs the Archdemon’s soul instead of a Grey Warden doing so, and that the child can survive because it isn’t fully developed. She’s been giving me various potions and herbs, trying to help you and I conceive. If we had, she’d confirm that the child was tainted like we are to act as protection for us.”

“That’s why she’s been pulling you away to speak in private so much lately, to see if you were pregnant,” he guessed, and she nodded. “I wish you’d told me, love. I’m I right in guessing that it didn’t work?”

“It didn’t, and I’m sorry. I thought by now, and with Morrigan’s help, that I would be and we wouldn’t have anything to worry about.”

Wrapping an arm around her with a heavy sigh, Alistair pulled Elissa to him and she buried her face in the linen of his fresh shirt. “It’s alright, love. Riordan already said he’s going to claim the final blow against the dragon. You and I will both be fine, and we’ll have plenty of time after to figure out something about an heir.”

“Do you really think Riordan is going to make it that far, though?” she asked quietly. “He’s tired, Alistair. Too tired. I know you don’t hear the taint the same way that I have been since the Deep Roads, but I don’t think Riordan’s song is going to last until Urthemiel’s death. We can hope that he makes it all we want, as horrible as that is, but we shouldn’t count on it.”

“What else can we do?”

Elissa felt heart fall deep into her stomach, and she squeezed her eyes shut to hide the tears that were forming.

“Morrigan’s ritual still isn’t out of the question,” she answered finally in a choked voice. “The unborn child has to be tainted, but that doesn’t mean both parents have to be Grey Wardens. Only one parent needs to be, and since the ritual was intended for her to begin with--it’s why Flemeth sent her with us--she insists that she can guarantee that she could be with child. She… she just needs a Grey Warden to father it for her.”

He didn’t say anything, but Elissa could feel Alistair’s body tense up around her. “And unfortunately, Riordan isn’t an option,” she continued, “for the same reason that I don’t think he’ll live to face Urthemiel.”

“That leaves me,” he said finally. “Please tell me this is some sort of joke, Lissa. You can’t actually be asking what I think you are. You can’t be.”

“I don’t want to, but I don’t see where I have a choice. It’s going to come down to the two of us, and I know you well enough to know you’ll try to kill Urthemiel yourself. But Ferelden needs you, Alistair. Especially with Anora gone and unable to take the throne if anything happened to you, like we’d planned. We can’t risk anything happening to you any more than necessary while there’s not some sort of heir arranged for.”

“But Elissa--”

Suddenly frustrated, she pushed herself up from his arms and sat straight. “No, Alistair. No buts. Either we do this, or we don’t, and it’s not my choice to make. I know that you’re trying to protect me, so answer me this: Do you honestly think you can stop me, that you can be faster than me, and that you can kill him before I do? If you aren’t absolutely positive, then agreeing to Morrigan’s plan is the only way you will be able to protect me because I promise, I’ll make stopping me more difficult than stopping the Archdemon if I have to.”

Alistair was silent for a long while--long enough that Elissa worried that she’d gone too far, or that even with her declaration that he’d still refuse.

“Why do you have to be so stubborn?” he sighed finally. “You know what you’re asking, love. Can we live with this, if we go through with it? We’ll both always know what I’ve done.”

“Not necessarily,” she began with a heavy exhale. “I asked Morrigan to make me forget this part, at least, of tonight. She said she can give me dreams that I’ll think were real, and that this is the dream. And the condition I gave for discussing this with you was that she’d do the same for you, if you wanted it. She said blocking your memory would be more difficult, but that she would try it still.”

“And you trust her, even with what she’s asking us?”

Elissa nodded, sad but certain. “I do. She’s sworn that she won’t let harm come to either of us if we do this. Between this and killing Flemeth months ago, we’re giving her everything she wants. She wants Urthemiel’s soul for that child, and she can’t get it unless we’re both alive and well to kill the dragon. And if we don’t remember tonight, we have no reason to pursue her when she leaves.”

“But why does she want a child with the Archdemon’s soul? Doesn’t the thought of that bother you?”

“Honestly? I don’t care anymore, Alistair. It was more than a little disturbing to realize that it could have been me carrying Urthemiel if transferring the ritual had worked, but so long as it’s not me then Morrigan can have the Old God’s soul if she wants it.”

“I can’t believe we’re considering this,” Alistair groaned. “You said she ought to be able to make me forget as well, right?”

Elissa nodded. “She said that it’d be more difficult, but that she’d do everything in her power to try.”

“You think she’d give me time to get really drunk first? Or that she’d have some potions that would have the same effect?”

“We can ask her,” she replied, almost chuckling at him. “She did say she could possibly look like me, to make it easier.”

His face darkened at that. “No, Lissa. Either I’m with you or I’m not. Besides, she can look like you all she wants but I’ll still know that she’s not.”

Smiling sadly again, she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him in for a soft kiss. “Thank you, love,” she whispered. “For doing this in spite of Morrigan, in spite of it not being me, in spite of everything.”

“I’m only doing this cause you are much faster than me, you know,” he replied with a similar smile. “If I thought I could beat you to the killing blow, I wouldn’t even consider this.”

“Well then, thank you for the vote of confidence, as well.”

He pulled her from where she sat next to him and into his lap, broken armor and all. “I love you, Elissa. And I’m going to marry you and, since you didn’t tell me not to, I’m making you my queen, heirs or no heirs. And to get this far we’ve all done things we’d rather not have, and as much as I don’t want to go through with this ritual of Morrigan’s, if that’s what it takes to get through this and get the chance to keep you as my queen I will do it. But only for you. If you change your mind, then mine changes too.”

“Well then,” Elissa began, “let’s go let her know what’s been decided, and to have her do whatever she has to do so I never remember any of this.”

 

When she finally woke again just before dawn she was in her own bed, dressed in one of her own shifts, with Alistair’s arm tight around her ribs. Sitting up groggily she rubbed at her head, trying to remember coming to bed the night before, but it was impossible to separate the dreams—and the nightmares—from reality. She couldn’t help but to imagine that a woody, earthy scent lingered in the room.

She couldn’t begin to fathom why, but she suddenly started to cry uncontrollably, and as Alistair awoke the more he tried to calm her, the worse the sobbing became.


	39. The Siege of Denerim

My Creator, judge me whole:   
Find me well within Your grace   
Touch me with fire that I be cleansed   
Tell me I have sung to Your approval

_Transfigurations 12:4_

 

Fidgeting in her saddle, Elissa twisted about to see the army that sprawled around her. It was the fifth afternoon since leaving Redcliffe; more importantly, it was their last afternoon before reaching Denerim. Already the column had slowed from its forced march into a crawl as tents were set up and field kitchens sprang up to prepare evening meals.

“Riordan says tomorrow’s the day.”

Turning to face forward again, Elissa saw Alistair walking back from where she knew the Senior Warden’s tent was already being set up. Dismounting, she retrieved a number of packs of gear—mostly armor that Valena had collected for her that she didn’t have a reason before now to use—and passed the reins to a groom that had appeared and waited to take her horse for her.

“After all this time, it’s hard to believe we’re finally here,” she replied softly as he took some of the gear and they walked to where their own tent was already nearly complete, dead in the center of the camp. “I almost wish we weren’t stopping tonight. I want this over with.”

One of the porters caught their attention that the tent was ready, and as Elissa and Alistair ducked inside she could hear two guards take position just on the other side of the canvas. She shot Alistair a confused look, and he grinned sheepishly.

“Riordan _says_ it’s for our protection, in case the horde breaks away from the city and attacks our camp overnight. _I_ think he’s trying to make sure we don’t go sneaking off before morning without him, though.”

“Probably not the stupidest thing he’s done, to be honest,” she admitted with a sigh as she started to sort through the gear. There was so much that Valena had found for her in the delivery from the Orlesian Wardens; thus far she’d settled for a pair of simple black leather breeches and thick leather corselet, but that would only just protect her modesty, much less her skin. There was still the enchanted tunic and mantle, as well as leather tassets and cuisses for her hips and thighs and heavy gloves to match the boots she’d picked up.

“I still think you should be wearing something heavier than that, love,” he said quietly, his arms wrapping around her waist from behind. “Most of that gear’s meant for mages, not melee. If anything gets ahold of you-”

Twisting in his grip, she pulled him down to her and cut his words off with a kiss. “If I wear anything heavier, I’m not going to be able to move,” she replied gently after a moment, her face buried in his neck. “Varathorn’s ironbark was one thing, but there’s no way I’m going to be able to wear even a maille shirt and keep half my usual speed. At least in this, I should be able to dodge anything that comes my way.”

“I still don’t like the idea.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Morrigan won’t let anything happen to me.”

Alistair made a face at the witch’s name. “Not that I really mind the lack of abuse, but where’s she been? She’s been avoiding me for nearly a week now.”

A strange sort of dread tried to settle itself in her belly, but Elissa brushed it aside. “Last I saw her was just after breakfast. She said she’d be going out ahead and would check in tonight.”

“Well, I’m going to go find us some supper. Whatever’s gotten into her, she’s always seems to be waiting for a chance to talk to you alone. May as well give her some time to check in before we get to bed.”

 

* * *

 

It was nearly morning when Elissa finally gave up on sleep, inching out of Alistair’s arms and their blankets and quietly beginning to dress for the coming battle.

Morrigan had indeed come and gone while Alistair had been away the evening before, and while she reported that all of their friends in the capital were still safe, much of the city had already burned to the ground. The only structure that was more or less untouched was Fort Drakon, but the Archdemon himself remained perched on its tower, watching the carnage below. Everything, even the chantry, had been reduced to a burning pile of rubble according to the witch.

Elissa had finished with her boots and cuisses and was working on fastening the tassets to her corselet by the time Alistair finally woke. After rubbing the sleep from his eyes he got up to help her, tying off laces here and adjusting buckles there, and finally fastening the silverite cloak pin with the double griffon he’d gotten her for Satinalia to the throat of her mantle.

She was caught off guard when he suddenly crushed her to his chest, but as he pressed his cheek to her hair she melted into him, trying to memorize everything—his scent, the feel of his chest under her and his arms around her, and his stubble as it scratched just along her hairline.

Alistair’s voice cracked when he finally spoke. “Promise me you won’t do anything rash today,” he begged, pulling away from her a bit to look her in the eye. “I can’t do this without you.”

Smiling softly Elissa reached up and let her fingers trail along his jaw. “I promise,” she lied as she kissed him, then began to gather his armor for him to get dressed as well.

 

* * *

 

Denerim was in an even worse state than Morrigan had led her to believe. Breaking through the gates was a simple enough matter—the gates themselves had long since been smashed by the horde and the majority of the beasts left behind to guard them were the weakest of grunts. Only two emissaries—one hurlock and one genlock—commanded the forces here, and only a single ogre remained to protect them.

“Hey, Crazy!” she heard from behind her as she rolled to avoid a heavy swipe by the ogre’s fist. “What the fuck happened to ‘oh no, the dragon’s going to Redcliffe, you guys wait here while we go kill it’?”

They’d come across Oghren early in the fighting, leading a regiment of royal troops mixed in with a decent-sized group of surface dwarves that had been recruited into the last-minute militia that had formed.

“Not right now, Oghren,” Elissa shouted back, but the dwarf’s taunting had managed to catch the ogre’s attention and she took the opportunity its turned back presented. Like so many times in the past year she darted for the giant’s legs, cutting through its hamstrings before jumping back out of the way again. Oghren’s soldiers fell on the ogre while the Dalish, just now making their way through the gates and over the city’s walls, picked off the two emissaries.

It had taken hours, but the entire district surrounding the main gates into the city was secure. Oghren gave a few orders to his men, and then joined the three Wardens—and Morrigan, who’d just landed and transformed back into herself—to update them.

“By the Void, Alistair, I thought I told you to keep a leash on this one!” he swore, pointing at Elissa. “The horde got here three days ago, I think, and shit ain’t been pretty since then. The dragon spends most of its time up on that tower, thank the Ancestors, but ever since the lookouts reported that your army was in sight he’s gotten ornery.”

They all turned to get a view of Fort Drakon; the archdemon himself wasn’t visible, but occasional belches of violet flame cast shadows across the city below.

“Alistair, Lady Elissa,” Riordan began as he turned back to the others, “you two take Morrigan and go into the city while I try to reach Fort Drakon. The Archdemon has a… general… here in the Denerim that he will certainly call to his side the moment any of us try to engage him. Seek this general out and destroy him, then meet me on top of the fort.”

“I know the one you’re talking about,” Elissa nodded. “I’m fairly certain I can find him, even in the middle of all this.”

“Good. Master Dwarf, is there anything you need from us before we go?”

Oghren scratched himself while he considered this. “Nah, I think we’ve got everything we need here. But leave me a few of those mages, will ya? I like seeing those genlocks on fire, running ‘round like sodding nugs with their heads chopped off.”

Letting herself laugh lightly at the mental image, Elissa motioned to a nearby soldier and sent him off with the message to the enchanter in charge of the Circle Mages within the army. The rest of the army’s forces would spread throughout the city’s districts as assigned during the march from Redcliffe, but certainly a few mages could be spared.

“Hey, Crazy,” the dwarf called as they began to head further into the city, toward the primary market district. Elissa turned, already beginning to roll her eyes at Oghren’s nickname for her, but then stopped when she saw the serious look on his face. “There’s an old saying back in Orzammar… _When from the blood of battle the Stone as been fed, let the heroes prevail and the blighters lie dead._ As one of the blighters, I sodding salute you, even if you are half mad. Now let’s show them our hearts, and then show them theirs.”

“Isn’t that a bit backwards?” she asked. “Leliana would say we’re the heroes, after all.”

Oghren shrugged in response. “Yeah, but she’s damn near as crazy as you are. Just get your asses in there and get this shit over with, eh?”

 

* * *

 

“What exactly are we looking for?”

The three of them had ducked into an alley about halfway between the city gates and the markets to give Elissa a moment to try and track the hurlock that acted as Urthemiel’s general. The young Warden’s face was scrunched up in concentration while she listened, trying to separate the various sounds of the horde from one another.

There was the beating of drums, both within her head and without. The roars of pain as one beast died at the hands of one of her soldiers, and the shrieks of satisfaction as other ’spawn casually lopped away the defenders’ heads. And above it all, within it all, and throughout it all, the impossible beckoning of the archdemon’s call.

“The general’s a hurlock… but at least a head taller than any other I’ve ever seen,” she finally answered the witch while still listening elsewhere. Finally, she found what she was looking for; a voice more refined than that of the bulk of the horde, more crude than the beckoning of the Archdemon, and perhaps most importantly, it was _sentient_. Unlike all the rest of the horde there was a mind behind this voice, and that mind and its voice shouted commands to the thralls under its command.

Eyes snapping open, Elissa tightened her grip on her blades and marched passed Alistair and Morrigan, back into the streets of the city. Months and years later, stories would tell how she stormed through Denerim with the horde melting before her—some of the stories would say she cut down the darkspawn without breaking her stride, while others would claim that the horde parted before her, the beasts scrambling out of her path.

All that she would later remember was the order given by the dragon, which the vanguard repeated to all the thralls who could hear him.

 _Ado_ _lebit medicus pythonissa_.

And so she made her way toward the gates of the Alienage, Alistair and Morrigan trailing behind her, Moira at her side. Nearly everything in the central market had long since burned: the Chantry was a pile of splinters and rubble, what remained of the canopies over the main square were ripped and charred, and the portcullis of Eamon’s estate was ripped to shreds.

But there were no darkspawn. Not at the gates of the market, not at the Chantry, and not in the square. Finally stopping just on the other side of the building that housed Goldanna and her family— _bitch or not, had she escaped in time? Had her children?_ —Elissa held up one hand to let Alistair know to wait here.

 _“Hurlock Praecedebant! Magus occidi praeceperit dominus, qui esset minatur ut occidat eum! Sed quod modi de comminatio vetus mulier cum griseo bellatores expectantes vobis? Coram me, et honorificent Deum tuum! Me interface, et ad civitatem hanc potes, ad populum, et quic quid vult dominus.”_ She had no idea where the words came from, but as she called out her challenge she sent her own answer to the horde’s song through the link of the taint within her. An odd bit of a smile twisted one corner of her mouth before she continued, _“Nisi quidem tu mihi etiam isto faciem. Paene interfectus essem vester in tenebris domos, sicut tu subditus quails comminatio tantum mihi?”_

The roar of fury from the gates at the far end of the district, leading to the Alienage, was unmistakeable. Darkspawn spilled around the passage leading to the gates like insects; at first it seemed they were running toward her, but Elissa quickly realized that the majority of the beasts were running _away_ from the Vanguard as it cut its way through them to reach her. Genlocks and lesser hurlocks stumbled and fell over one another as they scrambled out of their leader’s path, pressing themselves against the buildings surrounding the square.

“What are you doing?” the witch demanded, and with a glance behind her Elissa saw the same question in Alistair’s eyes.

“I called him a coward for battling an old woman when there are Grey Wardens waiting to face him,” she replied curtly.

Morrigan scowled back at the Warden. “I speak Tevinter Arcanum just fine, Elissa,” she spat. “But why in the Void would you call its attention?”

“Just shut up and keep the others off us, will you?”

The Vanguard charged before the witch could reply, and as Elissa and Moira dodged back and to the right, Alistair came up from their left to stop the initial blow with his shield. Throwing the hurlock back again, he began to circle around it to his left, and Elissa mimicked the move to her right. She was dimly aware of explosions not far away as Morrigan let fire rain down on the darkspawn cowering among the ruins, preventing them from joining their leader, and in the light of the flames she studied her opponent quickly and carefully to determine the best spot to strike.

He carried a similar sword and shield to what many other hurlocks used, scavenged from some place unknown in the Deep Roads, but his armor, while higher quality than that of the others, was more mismatched, with a much worse fit—likely the result of being so much larger than most of the other darkspawn. The gaps between each piece were obvious, and Elissa could smell the blood running through the arteries under these patches of unprotected skin.

Alistair moved first, and as the hurlock moved to block the blow Elissa darted in from behind, aiming for the unprotected underside of its sword arm. Her blade found its mark but didn’t cut deeply enough, and the beast’s opposite elbow struck her in the face as it spun about to face her. Even more than the initial blow, the shock as her skull cracked against the rock beneath stunned her so badly that she just lay there for several moments, barely aware of Moira hovering over her body.

The stars in her eyes slowly cleared as she felt magic rushing over her, and blinking she sat up just enough to see Wynne just visible near the Alienage gates. Realizing almost too late that the curved blade was whistling its way down to her head, she rolled to one side to avoid it and heard a sickening crunch of steel on bone and flesh where she had just been, followed by a pained yelp that was just as quickly silenced.

What came next was a blur. Elissa vaguely remembered tripping the hurlock, one leg behind its knees and the other heel sinking into its stomach, knocking it to its back. Straddling its chest she struggled to rip its helmet off before it recovered. Only able to remove the helm partially, she took its own sword—she dropped herswhen she fell, and it was too far now to reach—and started to cut at its throat. Its skin was thicker than most other darkspawn, and its blade relatively dull, so she switched to her dagger, finally hitting the arteries she was looking for.

As the monster bled to death she rose and looked around her finally. Still unsteady on her feet from the blow to the head, Alistair caught her before she fell and walked her over to Moira’s limp form, covered by Morrigan’s cloak. “We should burn the body; give her a proper funeral,” the witch said quietly as they approached. “She died protecting her mistress, as any warrior should.”

Nodding numbly, Elissa wandered away a bit as Morrigan cast the spells over Moira’s body. She refused the potions Alistair kept trying to push to her lips, but relented when Wynne finally caught her and insisted on examining her wounds. Her nose was broken, but simple enough for Wynne to set and heal with a quick bit of warm magic.

“Elissa!”

Leliana’s face was bruised, but her relieved smile lit up the area around her nonetheless. “I thought we’d never see you again,” the bard murmured as she hugged her friend tight.

“It’s not over yet, Lil,” the Warden replied heavily. Separating herself from Leliana, Elissa turned and gestured toward the fort. “You’ll come with us?”

Her smile fell, but she nodded. “To the Black City itself, if needed.”

Morrigan joined a moment later, her eyes red with tears. Reaching out, Elissa caught the witch’s hand as she passed and squeezed it gently. “Thank you,” she whispered. Morrigan flinched at first, but then nodded in acknowledgement.

“So, to Fort Drakon, then?” Leliana asked quietly.

Nodding, Elissa glanced first at her friend and then to Wynne. “Where’s Zev? And Sten?”

“Zevran’s still in the Alienage, supervising the elves who joined the militia,” Wynne answered calmly. “We haven’t seen Sten in two days, but last we heard from the messengers, he and his men were going to clear as much of the area around Fort Drakon as they could ahead of your arrival.”

“Are there any civillians still in the city?”

“Some,” the mage admitted, “but I believe we have them well hidden from the darkspawn.”

Elissa began to chew on her lip, then spit in disgust when she realized she was still covered in the vanguard’s blood. “Can you and Zevran stay here and take care of everyone, then?”

“I think we can handle that, dear,” Wynne smiled gently. “Is there anything you need before going on?”

After a quick, questioning glance to Alistair, she shook her head. “I think we’ve got everything we need.”

“Then just make sure to come back to us, dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Adolebit medicus phythonissa = burn the witch-healer.
> 
> Hurlock Praecedebant! Magus occidi praeceperit dominus, qui esset minatur ut occidat eum! Sed quod modi de comminatio vetus mulier cum griseo bellatores expectantes vobis? Coram me, et honorificent Deum tuum! Me interface, et ad civitatem hanc potes, ad populum, et quic quid vult dominus. VERY roughly equals: “Vanguard! Your lord commands you to kill the mage, to kill all those who would be a threat to him! But what sort of threat is an old woman when there are Grey Wardens waiting for you? Face me, and honor your god! Kill me, and you can do to this city, to its people, whatever you and your master wish.” 
> 
> Nisi quidem tu mihi etiam isto faciem. Paene interfectus essem vester in tenebris domos, sicut tu subditus quails comminatio tantum mihi? = “Unless of course you’re too craven to face me. I very nearly killed your master in the Deep Roads; what sort of threat is a mere thrall like you to me?”


	40. To The Death

Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,  
I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm.  
I shall endure.  
What you have created, no one can tear asunder.  
 _-Trials 1:15_

 

Bodies—human and elf, dwarf and darkspawn—littered the streets between the markets and Denerim’s southern palace district. Her army had spread to nearly every corner of the city by now, but everywhere Elissa looked, all she seemed to see were the dead and dying. There were others, of course; soldiers and militiamen, and darkspawn of every variety, still alive and fighting. But Elissa didn’t see any of them as she passed through the city.

This time all the darkspawn in her path _did_ scurry away as she and her companions approached, hiding among the alleyways and shattered homes and businesses of the city. The death of Urthemiel’s general rang out through the horde like the peals of a terrible, beautiful bell, and the echoes of that death followed as she marched from one end of the city to the other.

They were less than halfway to the fort when she and Alistair both clamped their hands over their ears in pain; just a moment later Morrigan and Leliana mimicked the action as the Archdemon’s screech finally reached their untainted ears.

“Fuck!”

Glancing up in surprise she immediately saw what prompted Alistair’s sudden outburst. Urthemiel finally was entering the fray, and he hovered over the fort now, wings beating steadily to keep him in place as he scanned the battlefield for the Wardens he could feel coming after him. Clearly the death knell of the Vanguard had reached the dragon just as it had the rest of the horde, and without his champion—his protector—he could no longer afford to wait to act.

Alistair and Elissa each grabbed Leliana and Morrigan by the arm and dragged them into the cover of a nearby building.

“What now?” Leliana’s voice was barely a whisper. “There’s no way we can get you two close enough without the dragon seeing you coming.”

Frowning, Elissa closed her eyes to listen for—to _see_ —any openings in the defenses around the fort they could use as a safe path.

 

* * *

 

_Three of them, now… the cursed she-wolf had found another Warden and brought him with her to kill Them. But They would find each one and rip flesh from bone before the damned Wardens had a chance to do the same. The bitch and her prince were together, but where was the third?_

_Lifting Themselves higher, They began to circle the area around the fort, searching. Alarms rang in Their mind on the third pass, and before They could react a weight fell onto their back._

_Human weight, bearing the burden of the taint._

_Steel sheathed itself between Their ribs, and flailing, They spun about midair, trying to dislodge this Warden and his steel. The blade came free, and the weight lifted, but only momentarily; seconds later it settled itself on Their wing, the bite of its sword slicing through the delicate membrane._

_Fla_ _iling and unable to maintain control, They bucked the weight off finally, but not before Their wing was useless. They landed heavily back on the fort below them, and seconds later the song of the Warden was extinguished. Only the bitch and the prince remained, yet They were now near crippled._

“We have to move.”

Elissa didn’t wait for any reply from the others as she started toward Fort Drakon again. Morrigan was the first to follow, barely hesitating before moving, but Alistair and Leliana nearly had to jog to catch up with the two. The witch blasted every darkspawn that crossed their path, regardless of whether it was attacking or fleeing.

“Lissa, what-”

“Riordan’s dead,” she cut him off before he could finish the question. “Urthemiel’s injured, though; one of his wings was ripped so badly that he can’t fly any longer. It doesn’t give us much more in the way of an advantage, but at least it takes one of his strengths away.”

He didn’t reply as they continued through the now-empty streets of the palace district, and Elissa knew what he was thinking, because she had been guilty of the same hope: that Riordan would deal the final blow, that he would absorb the Archdemon’s soul, that he would make the sacrifice so they could live. And to the senior Warden’s credit, he tried to give them that chance.

Riordan wasn’t meant to be the one to make the kill, though. Elissa realized as she approached the heavy gates of the fort that she’d known how this would end since before she even met Duncan, before she knew there was even a Blight.

Wiping angrily at the tears that were threatening to spill, she paused only when Sten met them on the steps, holding the heavy doors to Fort Drakon open for them. Nodding her thanks she continued, then stopped in confusion when she realized the Qunari was following.

“My men have orders to protect this door with their lives, that none of the darkspawn are able to flank you, _kadan_ ,” he explained. “You are _basalit-an_ , Warden, and I will follow to the end. _Ataash varin kata_.”

Smiling sadly, she nodded. Leliana had clearly told the others of the note Elissa had left behind before she left last, and it was good to know she had Sten’s support. “ _Asit tal-eb_ ,” she agreed softly, and the five continued into the fort.

It was obvious that Sten and his soldiers had cleared the darkspawn from the interior at some point in the last few days; bodies of the darkspawn that had initially captured Drakon littered every corner of every room.

The Qunari led them confidently from one chamber to the next, from one floor to the next, and with every step the Archdemon’s song grew louder in her ears until finally she could hear nothing else. Sparing a brief glance at Alistair she was confident he heard it this time, too, his gaze distant and his expression unreadable.

Sten was telling her something, but she couldn’t hear him over the glorious voice calling to her from the other side of the door before them. Reaching for the handle, she was stopped at the last moment as Alistair’s hand closed over her own, pulling her back.

“I’ve got better armor, let me go first.”

Hesitating a moment, Elissa finally nodded in agreement. Her tunic might be enchanted, but it wouldn’t stand a chance against dragon fire. She knew Alistair was intending to sacrifice himself, and she knew her friends would obey her wishes and prevent him from doing so.

“The four of you keep its attention while I sneak around behind,” she began. “We’ll pick at it from all sides, and deal with the consequences after.”

“But—”

“No arguments, Alistair. He’s hurt and confused, and with both of us so close he shouldn’t be able to tell you and I apart. Keep him focused on you and he won’t be able to sense me.”

Alistair nodded reluctantly, and as he led the way out to the roof Elissa caught the gazes of her other companions. Each face was grim, and they each nodded in turn. They understood their instructions. Ferelden needed a king when this was over and done with; Elissa needed a distraction.

 

* * *

 

_The pain in Their wing was unbearable, but there was no time to repair the injury. The bitch was here now, with her prince and her witch. They could smell her, and hear the terrible ringing of Their vanguard’s death all around her, but They could not see her._

_Four challengers approached, fanning out to surround Them—the prince and witch, and a giant and a girl. But where was the she-wolf? They cast about in fury to find her, but it was no use—her song rang in all directions, blinding Them to her as surely as if Their eyes had been pierced with a thousand arrows._

_They tried to guess her location based on her companions’ movements, but if any of them knew where she was, they did not behave as such. The four were all focused only on Them._

_For the first time in Their life, They knew fear. Fear of the unknown; fear of Her, replacing the fury They once felt when She crossed Their thoughts._

_The first strikes came from the girl, arrows that bounced off Their skin, snapping Them back to the moment. The Bitch was the true danger to Them, but if They could not find Her, they could not fight Her. Better to remove Her companions first. Perhaps with her Prince dead, They could separate her song from all the rest._

Elissa crept through the shadows along the edge of the rooftop’s fortifications, sword in one hand but her dagger still at her hip. Alistair and the others were facing the dragon directly, and she felt like a coward for sneaking the way she was, but there was no way for her to get close enough to the Archdemon to cause any damage unless she could take it by surprise.

The others would keep its attention, that much she was certain of. All she had to do was get close enough to disable it, then they’d figure out the rest from there. Moving as close as she dared before revealing herself, Elissa paused to study her opponent. The left wing might as well have been destroyed by Riordan’s attack but the the right was still whole and provided just enough lift to allow the monster to hover a bit above the ground, though he struggled to maintain his balance when he did so.

A column of ice and thunder enveloped Urthemiel then, and even at this distance the shockwave nearly knocked Elissa off her feet. Holding onto a nearby pile of rubble, she waited until the worst of the storm subsided, then darted forward. She ducked under the edge of his right wing, sword raised, and the moment before her blade hit another of Morrigan’s spells set it aflame. The steel sliced through the paper-thin membrane with ease, slowing—but never stopping—only when it met the hollow bones at the front edge of the wing.

_The She-Wolf had fooled Them, lulled Them into complacency! It was the only explanation for how the Bitch had managed to strike without detection, and now They not only suffered the maiming of one wing, but the total loss of the other. They spun about in pain, seeking Her that She could be destroyed before She could strike again, but They slipped in the blood—Their blood—pooling at Their feet._

_They saw Her now, crumpled on the floor before Them. The prince and the girl were dragging Her away from Them, out of Their reach, as the giant and the witch beat Them back with steel and sorcery. They belched flame at these two, trying to slow their assault on Them, but with no result._

 

* * *

 

“Lissa, dammit, wake up!”

A mixture of blood and bitter medicine mingled on her lips as Alistair supported her, and Leliana forced a red vial on her. There was wet heat matting her hair to her face, and unbearable pain in her sword arm, but she couldn’t tell any longer which injuries were her own, and which were Urthemiel’s. It took most of her strength to open her eyes and push her hair back from them.

She hadn’t been able to hear the drumming of the horde over the dragon’s song since reaching the roof, but now a new, dissonant staccato beat at her mind. The longer she tried to clear it, the more it gradually faded, but it never quite left her. As her vision finally cleared Elissa sat up to stare in fascination at the dragon as Morrigan and Sten held it off long enough for her to recover.

“It’s his heart.”

Alistair turned her to him and took her chin in his hand so he could look her in the eye. “What’s who’s heart, love?”

_He can’t hear it._

In a way it made sense; whatever the reason she’d always been more sensitive to the darkspawn than he was, and she was now coated nearly head to toe in the Archdemon’s own blood. And as it lost more and more of that blood, the once-steady pulse faltered.

Smiling gently she brushed the fingers of one gloved hand along Alistair’s cheek, and he instinctively leaned into the gesture. The last thing he expected was the sudden crack to his skull as Leliana struck him with the pommel of his own sword, tossing Elissa the blade as his eyes glazed over.

“Go,” the Orlesian smiled sadly, nodding toward the Archdemon. “I will make certain he does not interfere.”

Alistair’s sword in hand, Elissa bolted. Passed Sten and Morrigan, across the pools of blood, into the face and through the flame of the beast itself. The blade slid cleanly into the soft flesh of the dragon’s throat, dragging a few feet before there was finally too much resistance to continue. Her momentum carried her on, sliding through the blood and gore to the other side of its heavy body.

Coming to a stop near one decidedly-oversized talon, Elissa scrambled to get clear of the dragon as he flailed. The staccato was growing weaker and weaker, but it hadn’t yet been extinguished. Spying her own sword not far away, she made a dash for it, slipping briefly as she grabbed it up and switched directions to charge again. Pulling her dagger finally she dove for the dragon’s chest, sinking her dagger in and using it and her sword to help her climb onto its back.

Settling herself between two of the spines jutting from its neck, her back to its head, she sank the dagger into the flesh beside her leg to free her other hand before reversing her blade and sinking it deep between two ribs and down to the beast’s heart.

_The light blinded Them as the Bitch’s blade sank into Their heart, and Their soul was ripped away from Their self and began to meld with Hers. Pain wracked both Their bodies, the God and the She-Wolf, and then suddenly the light was gone, and Elissa was alone._

_Elissa sat up carefully, confused to find herself back in her room in Redcliffe. A flicker of light lit one corner of the room, and Morrigan approached silently, setting the candle on the table next to the bed._

_“You’ve been through a lot, my friend, and you’ll go through much more,” the witch said quietly, easing Elissa back into her pillows. “Though by the time you remember this conversation, all will have been long-since done.”_

_She tried to sit up again, and again the witch gently pressed her back to the bed. “There is no time to argue; just sit and listen to me. I swore to you that I would not allow either you or Alistair to die in the battle with the Archdemon. While I was unable to transfer the ritual that ensured your survival so that **you** might bear his child in spite of your tainted blood, I was able to perform it myself. He does not know, and will never know unless you tell him, so I beg you not to hate or punish him for my actions.”_

_“That said, I will be gone before you wake from this dream. Do not seek me or my child, and I shall offer you the same respect, never to bother you again.”_

_Morrigan leaned forward and pressed a small kiss to Elissa’s forehead. “I will miss you, my friend.”_

 

* * *

 

The first thing Elissa was aware of was the warmth of the sun on her face, followed by gentle rain drops splashing against her cheek. Frowning, she opened her eyes carefully, and cried out in relief when she saw Alistair’s face near hers, her body crushed to his own. She raised one arm weakly and stroked his cheek.

“Hello, handsome,” she whispered with a small smile.


	41. The Hero of Ferelden

_The Archdemon Urthemiel was slain just before sunrise on the second day of Solace, in the year 9:31 of the Dragon Age by the Grey Warden Lady Elissa Cousland, sister of Teyrn Fergus Cousland of Highever. For the first time in history, the Warden to strike the killing blow against an archdemon survived the battle._

_The first Grey Warden reinforcements from Orlais arrived two days later. The senior officers among them kept Elissa away from the rest of us for many days in debriefing, and the junior members that accompanied them oversaw the disposal of the Archdemon’s corpse. In the end, it was agreed that Lady Elissa would take up the mantle of Warden Commander of Ferelden no later than the next First Day._

_I remained in Denerim for many months following the battle, helping Elissa and our other companions to rebuild the capital. Two weeks after the battle, the city was finally recovered enough that Alistair, bastard son of King Maric and winner of the Landsmeet that had taken place not a month prior, permitted Arl Eamon Guerrin to arrange for the lost prince’s coronation. Alistair took his father’s—and brother’s—throne on the twenty-third day of Solace._

_The reconstruction efforts continued through that autumn. Finally, on the first of Haring—the day of the Satinalia feast—King Alistair and Lady Elissa were wed, and she crowned Queen of Ferelden. In spite of the rude weather, the two toured the nation for the next several weeks. I accompanied them as far as Highever, and then I took ship from there and returned to Val Royeaux._

_As for her majesty’s actions after we parted ways: she and I exchanged letters at a somewhat regular interval for many years, though I fear the contents of most of those letters were pleasantries and idle chatter, and would be of little interest to this inquiry. What I do know is that as ordered by her Warden superiors, her majesty reported to the fortress at Vigil’s Keep just prior to the first of Wintermarch, in the year 9:32 of the Dragon Age._

_It was at Vigil’s Keep that her majesty encountered the first of the sentient darkspawn. Her investigation of this new breed of beast took precedence over her original assignment of rebuilding the Order in Ferelden, though she did recruit some few individuals—including the son of the late Rendon Howe, who once held Vigil’s Keep, and the apostate known as Anders. I do not know what motivated Elissa to spare the mage from the Templars that hunted him, but I do know from her letters that he proved to be a valuable ally as she tracked the leaders of the two new, warring factions of darkspawn._

_After many months these new darkspawn laid siege to both the city of Amaranthine and the Warden’s fortress, and her majesty was forced to divide her forces to protect both the townsfolk in Amaranthine and her recruits. Elissa led the defense of the city, while Anders and Howe oversaw Vigil’s Keep in her absence. Both Anders and the Grey Warden known as Kristoff were presumed dead following the siege on the Keep; however, as you well know Anders later surfaced in Kirkwall._

_Queen Elissa returned to Denerim for a time after the events in Amaranthine, and remained there for many months while Howe and the Keep’s seneschal saw to the Order. Barely over a year after she first reported to Vigil’s Keep, she received a letter requesting her presence in Orzammar. Her majesty confided little of the details of this trip to me, stating in her letters only that she was investigating a revival of golem research by the dwarves. She returned to Denerim again just in time for her birthday, which she shared with the Wintersend festival, on the first of Guardian, in the year 9:33 of the Dragon Age._

_Whatever had happened in Orzammar, her majesty insisted on retiring from the Grey Wardens on her return to the capital._

_I was in Denerim that spring, and it was the last time I saw the woman who had once been my closest friend. She left the city as a thief in the night on the twentieth of Cloudreach. My obligations prevented me from following after her, but shortly before Harvestmere I received a letter apologizing for her disappearance. She had returned to the capital again after making what she called a “pilgrimage” to Ostagar and the Kocari Wilds._

_But one cannot be queen and expect one’s travels to remain secret, no matter how much one wishes them to be. It is well known that her majesty visited the Circle Tower at Kinloch Hold following her trip to the Wilds, and she was seen again later returning to the Dragonbone Wastes near Amaranthine. Whatever Elissa was seeking on this pilgrimage of hers, she never confided in me whether or not she found it._

_Over two years had now passed, and gradually the letters from Denerim became fewer and fewer. After the fourth year—9:35 of the Dragon Age—the letters ceased altogether. Everything else that I know is based on rumors that came out of Ferelden; that their majesties consistently failed to produce an heir, that tensions began to gradually rise again with the Dalish elves, and that King Bhelen in Orzammar had become a tyrant, dissolving the Assembly altogether._

_At any rate, the last I heard of her majesty, Queen Elissa Cousland—“the Warden” as you insist on referring to her—she vanished from Denerim in 9:37 Dragon, while King Alistair was away in Kirkwall to meet with Knight Commander Meredith. I have since spoken to his majesty, and if Elissa left him any indication where she was going or why, he did not confide as much to me._

Leliana set aside her quill with a sigh, massaging her hand to prevent the cramps that always came with writing her stories, rather than telling them. She did _not_ want to be doing this, but the order came from the Divine herself; who was she to argue?

The door behind her opened and closed, and the Seeker from Nevarra—Cassandra, Leliana reminded herself—peered over her shoulder at the tome on the table.

“You are certain this is everything? All you know of the Warden’s activities during and following the Blight?”

“All that I can personally confirm, yes,” the bard lied. Just because she was willing to help the Seekers find Elissa—to become a Seeker herself in order to do so—there was too much that she had been through with her friend to betray the deepest secrets they shared. She herself had no right to know some of the things that she did, things only the highest ranking Grey Wardens themselves knew.

Leliana understood why the Divine believed Elissa might be able to use her influence to prevent future bloodshed in the growing conflict of the Mage Rebellion. But she had no intention of betraying the trust of the woman who had saved them all, had saved _her_ , by sharing what should not be shared.

 _Sometimes,_ she thought, _a story is better defined by what is not told, than by what is._

 


End file.
